Tales of the Amber Vipers
by Mattwho81
Summary: In the time of the Dark Imperium a new Brotherhood arose, fighting in the forgotten reaches of the galaxy. Fresh and newborn they must walk a perilous line between honour and survival and the decision as to whether they shall be known for their nobility or callousness has yet to be determined. These are the stories of the Amber Vipers.
1. Chapter 1

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 1**

 **Contents**

 **1-32** Browncoats

 **33-80** Athelling

 **81+** Serpens Rex

**Browncoats**

The horizon was an endless line of glowing golden light laying before him, calling him on with its radiant aura, so crisp and so clear. Behind him lay the darkness of night but ahead was the promise of dawn, the glimmer that foretold the arrival of the sun in all its glory.

Between his legs his bike roared with the throaty growl of a Promethium engine. It was a reassuring noise, one he had not heard in a long time but never forgotten once heard. The bike was hurtling over rough ground, a dank moor covered in bracken. Mists clung close to the ground and the smell of damp was ever present, clinging to the nose and back of the throat. Tufts of bracken and unexpected dips buffeted the bike as it raced onward and such a rough ride would have broken the spine of any mortal, but the rider was anything but mortal.

He was a gene-forged Transhuman warrior, sworn to the service of the Emperor of Terra. His bulk was impressive yet one could not help but notice that he was not clad in mighty power armour but instead lighter scout-carapace armour. It was a vibrant amber colour, edged in black and upon his shoulder was the icon of a black goblet, wound about with a snake that rose up over the cup. Under the layers of his garb his arms bore the scars of centuries of service and his eyes were cold and flinty, yet within them burned a fearsome will and an unbreakable sense of duty. His name was Sergeant Reddam, from the Secundus Cohort of the Amber Vipers Chapter.

Reddam raced over the landscape, his bike's roar making his lips pull back over his teeth in feral joy. Behind Reddam trailed five more warriors, each one nearly matching him in bulk though not age nor experience. Like him all of them wore light carapace armour but unlike him they had never known the blessing of powered plate. These were the warriors of his squad, his charges and Brothers and it was Reddam's new duty to lead and teach them.

Reddam spent a microsecond checking their positioning in his bike's auspex and was forced to grunt in acceptance as he saw they were perfectly aligned in formation. On his left flank rode Joffel, the ambitious and driven youth keeping close to the squad leader. On the right rode Kazao, a thoughtful and dutiful warrior who always wore an expanded Stormtrooper helmet, hiding his face even when not at war. Further to the right rode Tebes, a dour soul who seemed to find no joy in anything. Lastly trailing behind were Larus and Glord, the attack bike drivers who brought the squad's heavy bolter with them. The pair were as night and day, one serious and terse, the other joyous and wild, yet they worked together with peerless dedication. All of them had been elevated from the Scout-cohort and this was their first mission together as a squad.

Reddam put them from his mind and widened the focus of his bike's auspex. Like him this bike was an old veteran, rededicated to the cause. Its armoured cowlings glinted with fresh amber colours and the metalwork was still slick with unguents from the Chapter's workshops. It had been lovingly restored by serf-artisans, the only slight flaw being a patch where repeated buffings had failed to erase the icon of a spiral in a starburst. Reddam glanced at the tiny pict-screen on his handlebars and saw a cluster of blips appear, closing rapidly. He grinned in triumph for the target was right where it should be. Reddam opened his vox and declared, "Heretic convoy sighted, attack pattern tango-six, weapons free, engage armoured vehicles first."

Joffel's voice arose proclaiming, "We'll tear the scum apart, they'll never know what hit them!"

Tebes countered his enthusiasm by intoning, "Death comes for all, there is no hiding from it."

"Vox discipline," Reddam snapped angrily, "You're not in the Tertius cohort anymore, form up on me and prepare to engage."

The youths obeyed and Reddam was left to fume. How was he supposed to turn this bunch of sloppy and ill-disciplined children into an effective squad? What were the Scouts being taught these days, he wondered. For a moment his mind drifted back to the old days, when he had been trained under the strictest regime imaginable and known another way of life. Then his mind slammed down on the memory, that life was over, the future was now and it was all that mattered.

Reddam looked ahead and saw the ground falling away, a rolling hillside that dipped before him to reveal an endless road. It stretched across the moors in an unbroken line of ferrocrete, linking distant cities across the vast hills and plains of the planet Maraha. Reddam had read all the tactical briefings and strategic assessments, but none of that mattered now. What mattered was the convoy of vehicles moving along the road. There were a dozen cargo-8's, all brimming with goods and supplies, no doubt intended for the rebel army but Reddam wasn't about to let that happen. Yet what drew his eye were a pair of Chimera transports, one at the front and one at the back, escorting the convoy. They had multi-lasers fitted in turrets and heavy bolters set to their front glacis plates, a dangerous threat but thankfully the mortals didn't seem to have spotted the approaching bikes yet.

Reddam twisted his throttle and his bike shot forward, hurtling over the wet bracken with break-neck speed. The wind lashed at his face and stabbed into his eyes as he dove down the hillside but he was untroubled and the convoy swelled in his vision. The sun was just beginning to appear over the horizon as they closed and Reddam voxed, "Kazao, take out the lead Chimera! Joffel, guard his flank."

Kazao accelerated ahead of the squad as he replied briskly, "Ave Imperator, they shall all die."

Reddam bit down the urge to micromanage the pair, he could only watch as they pulled away and crossed into weapons' range. Kazao's bike bore an Astartes grenade launcher, a simple but effective weapon, especially when couple with the Bike's auspex and recoil dampening mechanisms. Kazao veered off, headed right for the Chimera. Finally the dull-witted mortals noticed they were under attack and the Chimera's turret began to grind about, trying to fix upon them. It was too late however for Kazao raced in and elevated his grenade launcher high and with a sharp crack fired a Krak round.

His aim was flawless for the small explosive sailed high and impacted the transport right under the seal of the turret and the hull. There was a sharp bang and the turret half-lifted off, torn from its mounting, leaving the Chimera crippled as flames licked about the top of the hatch. Kazao shot by the damaged machine, his bike flashing past the prow before the hull-gunner could draw a bead. The transport ground to a halt as its rear-hatch slammed open, the men inside desperate to get out. Like all troopers the rebels hated the idea of being trapped in a burning vehicle but they were too slow to realise that they were doomed already. As the hatch opened Joffel shot past the rear and his hand flashed as he lobbed a Frag grenade into the troop bay. There was a second of panic inside and then the grenade detonated, spraying deadly shrapnel everywhere to kill every heretic inside. Joffel rode on crying, "I got them!"

Reddam saw the first threat was broken and ordered, "Tebes with me, take out the rear Chimera, attack pattern beta-nine. Everyone else, break and attack. Cold hearts!"

"And fast blades!" the squad hollered as they pounced upon the bewildered cargo-8's, pouring bolter fire into their canvas coverings. The drivers panicked as they realised they were under attack and tried to turn off the road but every direction was filled with roaring bikers, blasting streams of mass-reactives as they closed then veering away before a response could be mustered.

Reddam left his squad to it as he focussed upon the primary threat, the remaining Chimera. It saw him coming and the turret's multi-laser ground about to aim at him. At the last second Reddam yanked his bike hard to the right and managed to jink out of the way as a burst of las-fire shot by where he had been a second before. He righted himself and charged on, headed right at the oncoming machine. The turret tried to track him but the hull heavy-bolter discharged first, sending rounds his way.

Reddam ferociously jinked and felt his bike shudder as a single round clipped the front cowling but then he was past the Chimera, racing away at top speed. The Chimera tried to turn after him but its commander should have been paying more attention to Tebes. While Reddam had drawn its fire the other biker had swung wide and was approaching from the rear, holding a melta-bomb in one hand. Tebes slowed as he skidded past the Chimera, clamping the bomb to the engine block and then he darted away with spine-shattering acceleration. A moment later there was a flash of fusion fire and the Chimera ground to a halt, losing all power for its tracks and turret.

Reddam swung out wide to make another pass but he saw rebels pouring out of the rear hatch. They were mortal men, utterly mundane and unremarkable in their drab brown helmets and long leather coats of the same shade. They could have been PDF soldiers from any world, completely indistinguishable in every way, save one. Out of the corner of his eye Reddam saw their leader raise a strange looking pistol and he swerved a heartbeat before as the man fired. Instantly the air erupted as a hypersonic pulse of matter flew by, setting the air alight as it shot off into the distance. Reddam snarled in disgust for the reports had been right. These rebel scum were indeed being armed with filthy Xenos gear, a disgusting perversion to add to their tally of sins. Reddam skidded about and lined up on the man, spraying bracken everywhere as the rear tire chewed up the ground. He saw the man trying to draw a bead but the Astartes was too fast and closed before the man could react.

Reddam's anger waved strong and he eschewed his bolters, instead reaching behind him to draw a long energised spear from his back. It was a beautiful relic, a power spear of remarkable craftsmanship, whose perfect form was marred only by the hacked out icon of a lightning bolt bisecting a red-bar. Reddam gripped it under his arm like a lancer of proto-history and the blade crackled with arching energies as he hurtled at the rebel's leader. To his credit the man stood his ground and tried to draw a bead on the closing Astartes but his bravery did him no good. Before he could fire Reddam lashed past him, the spear ramming into his chest and out the other side as it lifted him off the ground. Reddam felt the impact rock his bones and the spear was nearly torn from his grip but his strength was transhuman and he held on despite the body hanging from his weapon. He twisted his spear with practised skill and the bleeding corpse slid off, falling in his tracks to be forgotten.

Reddam heard the roar of bolters behind and knew Tebes was finishing off the surviving rebels with his bike's guns. Swiftly the last of the rebels fell, their brown uniforms fading into the drabness of the moor. The Sergeant deemed the threat dealt with and brought his bike about to assess the ongoing fight. He found the rest of the bikers racing up and down the length of the convoy, pouring bolter rounds into the flimsy cargo-8's. Fires were blazing everywhere and dead bodies were strewn about, the craters in their backs attesting to the drivers cowardice as they were cut down running away.

The Attack bike was bouncing along, pouring Heavy-bolter fire into each vehicle as Glord roared, "Easier than shooting fish in a barrel!"

"Pay attention," Larus snapped as he wrestled with the handlebars, "You nearly missed one."

Reddam joined them commanding, "Finish this, leave nothing for the rebels to salvage and no survivors."

In moments the squad reduced everything to flaming wreckage and cut down every rebel without exception. Yet they did not stay to enjoy their triumph for Reddam was already racing for the horizon declaring, "Make haste Amber Vipers, the next target is eighteen klicks away. Ave Imperator!"

With that the squad rode away, leaving only death as a testament that they were ever there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 2**

The outpost burned fiercely, sending clouds of filthy black smoke into the night sky. Licking flames wrapped around its walls and shone through the glassic windows, testaments to the devastation within. Once this had been a lonely listening post, a watchful eye for the rebel army,casting a net over the endless moors of the planet but now it was ruins. The antennas of vox and auspex arrays were smashed, the generators broken and all around were scattered dead bodies, their brown shirts and coats stained with blood.

Racing away from that outpost Sergeant Reddam and his squad left their latest fight behind as they withdrew. Tapered headlights cast dim illumination before them but it was more than enough for their enhanced eyes. For days they had been hitting isolated targets and then withdrawing, sometimes striking several times in a day then relocating entirely to another grid quadrant. They always struck with speed and surprise and they never lingered long enough for the rebels to find them.

As he held onto his bike's juddering handlebars Reddam could feel numerous small cuts sealing shut over his arms and legs. The fighting in the listening post had been frantic and desperate, the bunker designed to hold off assaults long enough for distress calls to be issued. It hadn't helped off course, the Amber Vipers had still obliterated the outpost before any message could be sent but they had been forced to brave an onslaught of shotgun and autopistol fire. Normally Reddam would have discounted such armaments as meagre threats but that was when he had been blessed with power armour, now he wore only scout carapace-armour. He was still adapting to that change and he missed his familiar plate. Yet he had been ordered to give it up when he left Primus cohort behind, the Amber Vipers simply didn't have enough suits available to equip every Brother.

Reddam glance at his young charges, seeing their reactions to the fight. Some seemed elated and buoyant, others dour and miserable but they had all fought well and that was what counted. Reddam however had concerns; he knew all too well that none of these youths had fought together in the Tertius cohort, their time as scouts spent in other squads. It was Reddam's task to forge them into an effective unit but it was not one he cared for.

Reddam had spent time in the training halls, all of the 'Old Seventeen' had been required to do so. Yet he had sought reassignment to the Primus Cohort as soon as the first generation of recruits had risen to form the fighting arm of the resurgent Chapter. Yet now this second-generation of recruits were graduating from the scouts, doubling the numbers of the Amber Vipers. Sadly this meant the 'Old Seventeen' were stretched thin and were required to take up leadership roles in the field.

Reddam was distracted from his introspection as he noticed Kazao was having trouble with his bike, heavily jerking the handlebars from side to side. The weight of the grenade launcher was pulling him off to one side and he kept having to wrestle the bike back on course. Reddam slowed a fraction and drifted closer, pulling alongside to query, "Is there a problem?"

Kazao's voice was muffled by the helmet he always wore but he responded through gritted teeth, "It's nothing."

"Fang-rot," Reddam swore seeing the bike's distress, "You're steering is shot and the suspension is cracked. Why didn't you report this?"

"I can handle it," Kazao muttered.

"Don't be stupid boy," Reddam snapped, "This isn't the Tertius cohort, you must report anything that degrades unit performance."

From the other side Joffel called, "If he can't keep up, leave him to make his own way back to base."

"Abandon a Brother?!" Reddam snarled, "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. All Brothers report supply status."

Joffel quickly replied, "Bike bolters have two reloads, down to one spare can of promethium."

Tebes stated, "No reloads, two cans of promethium."

"Heavy bolter's down to the last drum," Glord called.

"We've only got what's left in the tank," Larus added.

"One reload," Kazao stated, "Two cans of promethium."

Reddam checked his own supply and saw how low it was, then he flipped his auspex to wide gain and checked the skies above. "Skies are clear, nobody's watching," Reddam declared, "That's it, we're diverting to supply cache nineteen."

"But Sergeant," Joffel whined, "We still have enough left for one more raid."

Reddam grimaced as he spat, "You seem to be under the impression that was a suggestion, when it was an order."

Silence fell and the squad followed in Reddam's wake as he veered away, heading off into the wilderness. He fumed over the need but it was essential, the squad had to restock sooner rather than later, he knew all too well how precarious situations could become in an instant. As they travelled he had a chance to glance upwards, seeing the stars above marred by a vague smear of purple. Maraha was an underdeveloped agri-world upon the Eastern Fringe. This far out into the galaxy the Cicatrix Maledictum was just a glimmer to the naked eye, yet that foul rift was never wholly obscured, it was always there reminding all of the calamity that had befallen the Imperium.

It was into that devastation that the Amber Vipers had emerged, rising from the ashes of extinction to forge a new destiny. They were a small force but zealous and proud, committed to rebuilding and determined to make a difference. For that reason they had come to Maraha, a forgotten backwater ignored by the great and powerful Lords of Terra. This planet was in the throes of a rebellion, inspired by the expanding Tau empire but the Amber Vipers would not suffer that heresy to continue.

Reddam thought upon this for a time but another part of his mind was continuously calculating his position and speed. A Space Marine could hold a perfect map image in his mind, keeping the location of all targets and support available at a moment's notice. He needed no compass or rangefinder to find his way and within an hour they arrived at the cache. Reddam pulled up sharply at the prefixed position and was satisfied to see the supplies were right where they should be. It resembled a low bulge on the ground, a number of crates covered by a camo-shroud to make them invisible to rebel aircraft. Establishing a network of such caches was the first task of the Tertius cohort, the snakelet-scouts secreting supplies via Arvus lighter for the following Secundus cohort and their far-ranging raids behind the lines. The fact that they used civilian shuttles and not Thunderhawks spoke volumes about the state of the Amber Viper's logistics. A hodge-podge of salvaged and purloined gear, taken from wherever they could get it.

Reddam dismounted and slipped his spear into a shoulder holster as he called, "Quickly, take what you need and don't get weighed down."

With haste the squad ripped open the crates, helping themselves to fuel and munitions. Bolter rounds, cans of Promethium, grenades, melta-bombs, cluster mines and caltrops were all hastily unloaded. Reddam too helped himself, ignoring the maker's marks that told of the dozen worlds these supplies had been acquired from. At least the bolter-rounds had Amber Vipers marks, he thought, the Chapter's workshops on their meagre fleet could still produce those.

His supplies replenished he turned and saw Kazao labouring over his bike, a pallet of tools laid out beside him. The lad was working fast, a tiny welding torch reflecting off his blank visor. Reddam stepped closer and said, " Repair estimate?"

"Two hours by the Codex," Kazao stated without looking up, "But we don't have that sort of time so I'll improvise."

"Carry on," Reddam ordered, knowing the serf-artisans would pitch a fit at the lack of blessings and prayers, but if there was one thing the Amber Vipers had learned in their troubled history it was how to make do.

He turned to survey the rest of the squad. Larus and Glord were tending to their attack bike, stocking the Heavy Bolter drums and refuelling the tank. Glord was saying loudly, "We went through the rebel scum like a vibro-knife through curd!"

"Dairy confections are not relevant," Larus stated blankly, "We performed as mission parameters dictated."

Glord snorted, "Oh, crack a smile. You killed ten men with the poison on those knives of yours!"

"Incorrect," Larus responded, "I killed nine men with knife thrusts, only one lasted long enough to die from the poison."

"Must you always be such a grox-brain?!" Glord retorted.

"I am not a grox," Larus replied crisply, "I am an Amber Viper of the Adeptus Astartes."

Reddam left them to it, shaking his head. The Amber Vipers were as eclectic with their recruitment as they were their gear. Harvesting war orphans from the campaigns they fought in and it had resulted in strange peculiarities in their manner. Glord's wild ways, Larus' habit of poisoning his knives, Kazao and his helmet, Joffel's thirst for glory and Tebes' moroseness. And it was up to Reddam to forge them into a unit.

Reddam saw the other pair stood over their bikes, arguing about something and he strode over. As he closed he heard Joffel saying, "It's a crude pick!"

Tebes gripped a heavy Pneumatic hammer in one hand, with a pick on one side and a flat head on the other and retorted, "It works for me."

"It's an ugly mining tool, no weapon worthy of an Amber Viper," Joffel scoffed, " Now this, this is a real weapon!"

With that he flourished a curved sword by a leather-wrapped hilt. It was curiously organic, serrated along one side and with a sharpened edge on the other. Reddam started in shock, "Where did you get that?!"

Joffel grinned and said, "You like it? I think someone made it from a Hormaguant's claw. Look at the way it curves, like Chapter Master Coluber's sword: Venom. With a sword like this I'll soon be promoted to the Primus Cohort!"

Reddam was incensed and growled, "I said, where did you get it?"

Joffel smirked as he explained, "I took it off that rebel officer I killed in the last outpost."

Reddam glanced at Tebes and spat, "Go get some ration bars."

Reddam waited till he was out of earshot then looked at the youth still crooning over his new toy and uttered, "Throw that away."

To his shock Joffel didn't instantly obey but asked, "Why?"

Incensed Reddam summoned his most damming condemnation and declared, "It is Xenos!"

"Oh," Joffel sighed, "Well in that case, I invoke Victor's Rights and claim it as my trophy."

Fang-rot, Reddam cursed to himself, the lad was not only insolent but smart, a dangerous combination. Joffel had correctly invoked the Amber Viper's tradition of claiming trophies from the dead. A habit started during their turbulent history as a means of survival, which grew into an inviolable right. What had begun as scavenging from battlefields was now deeply ingrained into their culture.

Begrudgingly Reddam admitted, "You are within your rights but don't push it. If I thought that was Chaos tainted I would have shot you already."

Joffel grinned, not looking at all abashed and remarked, "You know, I've always admired that spear of yours. Did you get it the same way?"

"That is not for you to know," Reddam muttered warily.

"But…" Joffel began.

"I said no," Reddam spat, "It came from the Time of Exodus."

That shut Joffel up, for the youths had been hypno-indoctrinated not to ask about the past. For long years Reddam and his kin had wandered the galaxy, alone and cut off. Too many disgraceful deeds had been performed to remember it with any fondness and Reddam tried not to think of the brave Marine he had taken the spear from, or the look in his eyes as he died. That was in the past, best to leave it there. Only the 'Old Seventeen' knew anything about that time and when they passed, as all warriors must, it would be forgotten. Reddam was glad of it, he had no wish for that shame to persist, the future was all that mattered.

"Tend to your bike," Reddam muttered and then he strode off. Joffel returned to his labours but Reddam was disheartened. That lad was too ambitious, too insolent and too smart by half, he was going to be a problem. If Marines like this lot were the heirs of the Amber Vipers, then Reddam was deeply concerned what their future would look like.


	3. Chapter 3

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 3**

The man sitting across from him had a personal music device, a small machine that trailed wires to the shaped pods in his ears. It was such a small thing to notice, but that was what made it so decadent. It was a smooth oval in his hand, uncluttered by an Aquila or a Mechanicus Cog, shaped with elegant curves that proclaimed it's non-human origin's. Arbet couldn't help but stare at the small machine, with envy and resentment brewing in his heart.

Arbet was a young man, with lean muscles and a faint wisp of stubble upon his chin. He wore a brown shirt and jacket over mud-stained trousers and boots but at his neck were brass Lieutenant pins. Scars on his knuckles and a broken nose attested that he had earned his rank the hard way and he had the wary air of one who had spent too long at the sharp end of battle. At his waist was hung an empty holster but his watchful appearance made it clear he was more than ready to fight even when unarmed. He was Lieutenant Arbet of the People's Liberation Army of Maraha, or as they jokingly called themselves, the Brownshirts.

Arbet was sitting in the broken ruins of a hostelry, now repurposed to serve as the forward command post of the effort to free this world from Imperial tyranny. The place had once been gloriously decadent, with soft furnishings and gold-leaf frames that bore propaganda pieces from off-world. Now it was all smashed to bits, broken furnishings going damp as the wind blew through shattered windows. Yet it was far from quiet. Officers and aides bustled about bearing important documents, all looking harried as they dashed from place to place. They wore the uniform of the Liberation Army but they were no soldiers, more administrators and clerks, but even a rebel army needed some form of bureaucracy and so here they were. Arbet paid no mind, fixing his eyes upon the man with the music device. Some civilian with rich robes, who stuck out like a sore thumb.

Arbet could remember a time when such a machine would have been deemed heretical on Maraha and carrying one openly would have warranted immediate arrest and public flaying. Of course that hadn't stopped many from secretly owning such devices, illicit trade with the Tau Empire had been going on for decades, but it was strange how fast times had changed. For three years the Brownshirts had fought to liberate their world and notions of Heresy had fallen by the wayside. The Imperium was the enemy now and its dogmatic creeds were quickly forgotten.

There was a cough beside him and a gruff voice asked, "Credit for your thoughts?"

Arbet looked out the side of his eye and saw Sergeant Egar, his right-hand man. Egar was an older man, weathered by life's cares and with grey in his beard. He was dressed in brown but his jaw was working a piece of chewing Tabbac. How he supported such a habit when the weed didn't grow on Maraha was a secret Arbet had decided not to explore.

The pair of them were sat together in mouldering chairs, whose decadent furnishings were fraying and uncomfortably damp under their rears. Neither of them minded though, after three years of sleeping on the moors or within burned out ruins this was the lap of luxury.

Arbet leaned back on his chair, and muttered, "Just looking at that man over there."

Egar squinted and said, "Fat civvy, I bet he's never held a lasgun in his life. Why is he here?"

Arbet shrugged, "Armies are expensive things, all those men to feed and arm. The money's got to come from somewhere."

"Bescumber," Egar cussed, "We've got the Tau on our side, what good are sops like that? Any man who won't pick up a lasgun is useless to the cause."

"Now, now," Arbet chided, "We're trying to free all our people, we will need merchants like him to rebuild once the fighting is done."

Egar snorted, "When the Brownshirts win this war, people like that will be put against the wall and shot."

Sternly Arbet rebuked him, "Remember we are one people and don't call us that, it's the People Liberation army in public."

"Pah," Egar scoffed as he spat a black gobbet of Tabbac onto the fading carpet. Arbet didn't respond, Egar had saved his life far too many times for him to take umbrage.

Suddenly the pair were interrupted by a boy whose uniform looked two sizes too big. The lad saluted then squeaked, "Solidarity Lieutenant Arbet, Colonel Westerfield will see you now."

"Solidarity," Arbet replied by rote, "Lead on."

The pair of soldiers stood up and followed the boy into a large dining hall, here teams of vox-operators worked over large sets of devices while wide tables had been laid out to hold various maps. The noise of everybody chattering constantly was deafening as was the bustle of more senior officers arguing over matters of logistics and deployments. Arbet ignored it and was ignored in turn as they were led through but his ears pricked up as he heard the words 'Big Push' being bantered back and forth.

The boy led the pair to the back of the hall and they were let into a smaller ante-room, with but a single table. It was a close and dark, lit only by Lumen-orbs but there was still enough room to see two beings within. The first was a lean man, tall and gaunt, with sharp eyes and a clean-shaven jaw. He had actual gold pins at his throat but other than that seemed no more decorated than any other man in the hostelry.

Arbet swallowed as he recognised the face of Colonel Westerfield, the leader of the People's Liberation Army. Of course he wasn't the first commander of the Brownshirts, that honour had fallen to General Maggar. But the man who had raised the banner of rebellion had been cut down by Imperial Guard snipers two months into the war, as had the three generals who succeeded him. Colonel Westerfield had assumed command after a year of crushing defeats and retreats and decided that poncing around in a general's braiding and medals was an invitation to be shot. Like all the officer core he was a former PDF soldier and like them he had reached the end of his patience with Imperial rule and taken up arms to free his world.

The other being was as different as night was to day. He was shorter and frailer with a slit for a nose and was blue-skinned. This was Por O'Dea Ukos and he was a water-caste emissary for the Tau Empire. O'Dea had been bringing Tau artefacts to Maraha for decades, smuggling trade goods back and forth. Then had come the rebellion and he turned from smuggler to gun-runner, bringing advanced weapons that had turned the tide of the war. Arbet hated to admit it but without his aid the rebellion would have been crushed by the Imperial Guard's reprisal army. Many weren't happy with his offers of subsequent protection from the Tau Empire, but few were stubborn enough to deny that without a patron the Imperium would simply send wave after wave of armies until they won.

Arbet saluted as he said, "Solidarity, Lieutenant Arbet and Sergeant Egar reporting."

"Solidarity," the Colonel responded with a distracted salute, "Stand at ease."

Arbet did so and Westerfield eyed him up and down then said, "I heard about Archaria city, a tough fight indeed. But your platoon comported itself well, many speak highly of your service. You are to be commended."

"Thank you, sir," Arbet stated, skipping over the weeks of death and madness he had seen. The days huddling face down in broken rubble as las-bolts flew overhead and nights spent sleeping in his own piss.

Westerfield continued, "Your conduct will be evaluated in due course but I'm not letting slip any secrets when I say promotion is in your future. But sadly that will have to wait."

"Sir," Arbet repeated blankly.

Egar wasn't so circumspect and muttered, "I sense we're about to be volunteered for something, Sir."

Westerfield smiled wryly and said, "Sharp man that, I like a trooper who's not afraid to speak his mind."

Arbet's heart sank but the Colonel was moving to the table saying, "I have a sensitive mission for you, but you need to understand the current situation."

The table held a map of Maraha's primary continent, the oceans, moors and hills, mountains and rivers laid out in detail. The various cities were spread out like a rash, each one surrounded by rich farmlands, but the planet was young, as Imperial worlds went, and vast tracts between the lonely cites were still empty wilderness.

Westerfield waved his hand over the map saying, "Victory is close at hand. We rule from the coasts to the mountains and in most of the cities. People everywhere rush to join us and nine-tenths of the PDF have defected to our cause, only a few stubborn towns hold to the Imperium's rule. The Imperial Guard is isolated and outnumbered. Their reprisal army was broken by our friend's railguns and now they are reduced to defending Dunham city against our advance, but they can't hold much longer. Once we breakthrough we will drive them back to the Kalcha Mountains and the Capital city, where Governor Nugga lurks. Then Big Push will come and we will take the Capital, finally ending this war."

Egar spat loudly at the name of the hated governor, the greedy fool who's corrupt rule had been so repugnant that the people had seen no choice save to rise up against him. Arbet couldn't see anything wrong with the situation as described but ventured, "I assume the Imperials are calling for reinforcements."

At that O'Dea stepped up to say, "They try but the Kor'vattra reports their armies are drawn away to other wars. They are stretched too thin; no more armies are coming to save them here."

Arbet thought about it and said, "Once Dunham city falls we can push them up against the mountains surrounding the capital city. They will be trapped in the shadow of the Kalcha dam with nowhere left to run, they can't stop us now."

"Sounds great, Sir" Egar muttered, "What's the catch?"

Westerfield nodded, "Governor Nugga has one last card to play. His Astropath's cries have been answered, but not by the Imperial Guard. Space Marines have come to Maraha."

"Space Marines!" Arbet spluttered feeling his heart leap into his throat. Space Marines, the vaunted Emperor's Finest, legendary Demi-gods and avatars of the Emperor's Will. Even though they had rebelled, the people of Maraha still held an ingrained reverence for the Emperor and His angels, it was the oppressive Empire set up in his name they couldn't stand.

O'Dea stepped in saying, "I understand your hesitation but it is not as bad as it seems. The Kor'vattra have a ship in orbit and they report the Gue'ron'sha fleet is small and curiously sub-standard. While their ground forces are few and oddly hesitant."

Westerfield agreed, "They're not coming for us all guns blazing like Space Marines normally do. They seem to be trying to slow us down. Some of them have deployed to Dunham city but we press forward regardless, our sheer weight of numbers is insurmountable. The real problem is that they've dropped fast-hitting raiding forces behind our lines. They're hitting our supply lines, communications, air bases and munition stores. The havoc is screwing up our plans."

"So you want something done," Arbet guessed.

"Indeed," Westerfield stated, "You and a few other platoons are being assigned to hunt these raiders and eliminate them."

"Sir, you want us to chase after Space Marines?" Egar gasped.

O'Dea raised a hand saying, "We understand your fear but we do not underestimate the threat. The Tau empire is your friend and we support your willingness to join the Gue'vesa. Pulse rifles, Devilfish, Piranhas and air support shall be yours, even the Gue'ron'sha have their weakness."

Westerfield nodded, "We were holding those in reserve for the Big Push but this threat requires maximum overkill. Take your platoon and hunt down these enemies and Maraha will be freed. Can I trust you with this?"

Arbet swallowed in trepidation but there was nothing else he could possibly say except, "Yes sir."


	4. Chapter 4

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 4**

A las-bolt came out of nowhere, flying down the long road to strike his helm. The bolt impacted his forehead and cut a deep groove over his brow, one inch lower and it would have gone through his eye to blow his brains out. It was either superbly aimed or an incredibly lucky shot, though given the quality of his foes he favoured the latter. There was no kinetic impact as such but the thermal exchange evaporated layers of Ceramite protection with such vigour that it felt like his head was snapped back by a bullet anyway.

The shot was followed by a flurry of blasts, each one impacting the broken brickwork and causing explosions of dust and mortar in the ruins of the burned out hab. He wasn't there to see it however, for he had already relocated, throwing himself behind a pile of smashed rubble. It was galling to seek cover from pathetic las-fire, but there was a line between courage and stupidity and the Amber Vipers had no use for vain bravado. Once in cover he rolled over, his ceramite plate clanking against the ground. Dust clung to his amber plates, staining the vibrant colours and smearing the icon of the goblet and viper upon his pauldron. Yet upon his knee was a small coiled serpent, jade in colour and his marked helm was decorated with golden laurels. In one hand he had a bolt pistol and in the other a curved tulwar blade, a magnificent relic weapon whose quality was quite at odds with the meagre gear most of his Brothers boasted. He was Chapter Master Coluber and he was under fire.

Coluber crouched down behind the rubble and listened to las-bolts impacting the ruins beyond. It was a surprisingly large amount of firepower for one lone Marine to draw, but then he was Astartes, to mortals there was no more feared foe. Coluber's autosenses told him trickles of dust were falling from the burned walls as more rounds impacted but he ignored them, for in his mind he was counting. Battle was a complex formula of movement and firepower, a ballet of artillery, charges, desperate defences and ferocious melees. Coluber knew all too well that this level of firepower was a suppressing barrage, which meant an infantry assault was coming in its wake. Coluber's mental countdown reached zero and then he rose to peek out of cover.

Sure enough two score men were charging down the street of burned out habs, lasguns and bayonets held in white-knuckled grips. The rebel troopers presented a threat but that paled into insignificance compared to the machine rumbling behind them. An armoured chariot that drove along on four separate track units with a rear troop bay and twin autocannons fitted to a turret on its roof: a Taurox APC.

Torrents of las and autocannon fire were spraying liberally down the street but Coluber counted it a blessing there was no pulse rifle fire, the rebel scum had not expected to be confronted by an Astartes. He sensed the covering fire slacken as the men charged but he did not respond, not yet, he gripped his bolt pistol tightly and held his nerve. The men ran on, roars of adrenaline-fuelled anger upon their lips, then they crossed an invisible line and Coluber roared, "Brothers, now!"

Instantly shapes moved in the surrounding buildings, bulky forms looming in shattered windows and smashed doorways. Their shape and colours were unmistakeable, Amber Vipers, ten of them in power armour. The Astartes warriors moved with astonishing speed, bringing up bolters to bracket the charging rebels and then they let fly. The street filled with the thunder of mass-reactive rounds as eight Amber Vipers blasted the rebel scum apart. Bodies exploded as detonating rounds tore men apart and showers of blood rose high. Simultaneously another Brother let fly from a rooftop with a Missile launcher, striking the Taurox in its weaker flank and blowing one of the drive units off to leave it immobilised.

In a heartbeat half the rebels had been obliterated but the rest were so stoked with adrenaline that they charged on regardless. They bore down on Coluber's position with the mad courage oft found in the frenzy of battle but one Amber Viper had yet to express his wrath. From a doorway stepped an Astartes bearing a bulky flamer. He brought the weapon up, the pilot light glowing evilly, then with a pull of a trigger he ejected a stream of blazing promethium. The street instantly filled with searing flames, bathing the rebels in a deadly inferno. Men screamed as their clothes and hair were set alight, left to flail and tear at their flesh as they roasted to death.

The rebel charge had been decimated but they were not finished. The Taurox's autocannons sprayed wildly, lashing the walls with shell impacts. One shell hurtled into the doorway where the flamer bearer was covering and there was a spray of blood as he was struck, power armour was resilient but far from invulnerable. The Amber Vipers had been bloodied but were quick to respond, a second missile flew down upon the transport and this time the warhead penetrated, creating an explosion that turned the Taurox into a ball of flames and dirty smoke.

Coluber dared to think for a heartbeat that the rebels were defeated but then three troopers emerged from the smoke-filled inferno. Somehow they had avoided the worst of the firestorm and they ran at the Amber Viper their eyes filled with the mad horrors of war. Coluber saw them coming and stepped out to meet them, Venom in hand. They closed with frantic cries of terrified rage and their bayonets flashing but to Coluber's enhanced eyes they seemed to be moving in slow motion. The first man ran into a low slash of Venom that opened up his guts and made him collapse in a blubbering heap, trying to keep entrails from spilling out. The second was decapitated by a rising stroke that killed him before he even registered the sword coming. The last man was a step behind and threw himself at the towering Astartes but all he managed to achieve was to run himself through on Venom's point, leaving him frozen in shock at the length of metal sticking out of his chest.

Coluber grimaced at the last death, pointwork was awkward and inelegant with a curved blade, but he supposed what won the fight was what won the fight. He shook the body off and left the first rebel to try to stuff his guts back in. It was an agonisingly slow passing but Heretics didn't deserve clean deaths and it pleased Coluber to know the mortal was paying for his sins.

Coluber saw Amber Vipers emerging to clear the street and check for survivors. He was satisfied that they would find none, the ambush had worked and it would be minutes until more rebels arrived. Coluber reached up and removed his helm, snarling at the las-mark upon it. He tried to buff it out with his thumb but the groove was deep, this would require time in the workshop. Without his helm his features were grizzled and worn, a weariness in his eyes speaking of his onerous duties, but his jaw was firm and he revealed no hint of weakness.

Coluber called out, "Sergeant Torvus, report status."

The Sergeant called back, "Area secure but Brother Selat was killed by that autocannon."

Coluber's lip curled but his voice gave no hint of frustration or sorrow as he ordered, "Reassign his flamer and summon an Apothecary. I will coordinate our next move."

Torvus nodded in acknowledgement as Coluber counted the cost. A lost Brother was no small matter to the Amber Vipers; their scant numbers being too few already. The warriors present were all Primus Cohort, the only line Brothers granted power armour. Primus was the best the Chapter had to offer, but they numbered barely half a conventional battle company.

Coluber opened his vox uttering, "Battle-Captain Ferrac this is Coluber. Sector two is secured, report your status."

The vox crackled and then the voice of Ferrac, the Chapter's second in command, spoke "Heavy fighting in sectors three and four. The rebel scum's numbers grow, they seek to drown us in bodies. Request permission to launch a counter-attack."

"Denied," Coluber countered, "Pull all squads back to sector six and lead the Heretics into the heart of Dunham city."

Ferrac's voice had a note of anger as he argued, "A strafing pass by both our Thunderhawks could shatter the rebel's lines and leave them exposed for a killing thrust!"

Coluber was not angry with Ferrac's boldness, the Captain was only saying what Coluber himself was thinking, but the Chapter Master was stern as he commanded, "Negative, we don't have the numbers for that. The rebel scum will just keep sending wave after wave until they grind us down to nothing. I know you crave a glorious victory but remember our strategy; this is not the final battle. Our current objective is to slow the enemy down, bloody their noses and make them wary of advancing too fast. Preserve the lives of your warriors; we have already had one death here."

"Understood" Ferrac responded solemnly, "Ave Imperator."

The link died and Coluber shook his head. Ferrac was a noble soul but he craved honour and glory, he wanted the Amber Vipers to be ferocious zealots who scorned the odds and claimed victory at any cost. Coluber couldn't indulge such narrow-minded thinking, it was his duty to ensure the Chapter survived and grew.

He saw Torvus approaching, a young and eager soul, the finest warrior of the first-generation recruits and leader of the Chapter Master's favoured squad. They were the closest the Amber Vipers had to an Honour Guard and were not shy about letting others behold their vaunted status. The Sergeant called, "Apothecary Shrios has arrived."

Coluber saw the shining white armour of Apothecary Shrios closing, trailed by three servitors. Shrios was like him and Ferrac, a member of the 'Old Seventeen', those souls who had followed Coluber through hell and seen the Chapter's rebirth. Now he and his nascent order of apprentices were the Amber Vipers' shining hope, their means of rising to full strength. Not that Shrios' blunt manner and hard-nosed pragmatism lent itself to being a beacon of hope.

Shrios paused over the body of Selat, stooping to harvest his gene-seed. By such acts were the ranks of the Amber Vipers swelled and each and every Progenoid was precious beyond measure. Coluber waited until the Apothecary was finished then gathered the squad for the Rite of the Dead. Coluber drew in a breath and declared, "Brother Selat, you died as you lived: with a cold heart and a fast blade. You gave your life ensuring that our flame endured; now your death too shall stoke the fire, one last time."

With the ritual words spoken the squad knelt one by one and each took a token from the body of Selat. A tarnished medal, a loaded bolt pistol, a spent bolt round on a chain or a grenade, some took practical items, some personal effects but everybody took something. Coluber went last, taking a full clip for his bolt pistol. This was the Rite of the Dead, a custom from the Time of Exodus and by such traditions were the fallen honoured and the Brothers could share their grief.

The Rite completed the Servitors hoisted Selat up and carried him away, his power armour could not be left behind, it would be refurbished and presented to another warrior in time. As the squad dispersed Coluber turned to Shrios and said, "I wasn't expecting any deaths at this early stage."

Shrios lent his armoured head to one side and said bluntly, "War is war, deaths happen."

Coluber knew he was right but sighed, "What wouldn't I give for a proper Company at my back; I would rip the heart out of this rebellion in a day."

Shrios' voice was a verbal shrug as he said, "We have what we have and we do what we can. Blood-soaked charges to death and glory are very romantic but one misstep would end us forever. Your strategy is sound and plays to our strengths; cunning wins more wars than bravado.

"One day," Coluber declared, "One day will be a proper Chapter and fight with pride and glory, I swear it will be so, but until then I will do what I must."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Shrios muttered.

Coluber shook off his melancholy and jammed his helm back on, then proclaimed, "We've wasted too much time here. Torvus, form up your squad. We head for sector six, follow me Amber Vipers. War awaits!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 5**

Wind tore at Arbet's face, making his eyes water as they sped along. It was a bitter wind, one that passed through his coat to knife into his bones as if he had no protection. There was a damp scent in the air, the wet clamminess of bracken, which seemed to grow everywhere. It was always cold and windy on the moors, the breeze blowing across vast tracts of land without distraction or obstacle.

Ahead stretched rolling hills, rising and falling at random until in the distance they climbed into mountains that were capped with snow. Arbet was heading towards those mountains but even at these speeds it was a long way to go. Arbet glanced down, seeing the strange machine below him. He was currently sticking his torso out of the roof of a skimmer transport, one of the Devilfish. It had been gifted to them by the Tau envoy and seemed very odd to his eyes. The transport was all smooth lines and flowing curves, without a decent right angle anywhere to be seen. It was driven forward by two engines on swivel mounts at the rear and its prow was a flat hammer shape from which hung a burst cannon and two disc-like devices that were weighed down by guns. The Devilfish moved with a speed and surety he had never known before, floating over the rough terrain without so much as a jolt. It was unnerving to experience and oddly Arbet found himself missing the honest rough sensations of a Chimera transport.

Floating behind his Devilfish were three identical machines, carrying the squads of his platoon. Meanwhile the flanks were being guarded by a trio of smaller, two-man skimmers, which were faster and more manoeuvrable. Piranhas they were called, though he didn't know what kind of beast that was supposed to be. Far above aircraft trailed contrails across the sky, promising devastation from above at his mere call. It was more firepower than he had ever commanded in his life, but he wasn't sure it was going to be enough.

Arbet decided he'd seen enough and dropped back down into the Devilfish, pulling the hatch closed behind him. Inside it was just as strange, the roof was a little too low, the doors a little bit too small and the flowing protuberances that passed for seats had no grip, forcing the men to constantly push their bums back or slide off. The driver was in his own compartment, separating the troops completely. It was obvious that this had not been designed for humans, but it was warm and smooth and the troopers were used to worse.

Arbet saw his squad lined up in two ranks of five, chattering among themselves. These souls had fought beside him for years and he knew them as well as he knew his own family. They had bled and wept and griped together through the best and worst of times and that forged a bond that was hard to break. Arbet ducked down, and stepped closer, hearing Trooper Ganneth complaining, "Why Brown? Why does everything we own have to be sodding brown?"

Sergeant Egar retorted, "Cause the cheapest dye available is brown, that's why."

"The top brass are all cheapskates," Trooper Jonas spat, "Why couldn't the Colonel have given us these guns years ago?"

He hefted his new pulse rifle, the long smooth barrel looking cumbersome in his grip. Arbet knew what he meant, the rifle was odd and didn't sit in the hand well but the ferocious punch it boasted put lasrifles to shame. Arbet dumped his rear on a seat and explained, "The People's Liberation Army doesn't have unlimited resources, we have to save these guns for the big fights."

Ganneth examined the top of the barrel and muttered, "Where are you supposed to fit the bayonet? I can't fight without a bayonet."

Jonas scoffed, "There's nobody to fight, some drivers got lost and everybody's running scared. C'mon Lieutenant admit it, this mission is a waste of time. We're chasing ghosts."

"This mission is vitally important," Arbet reprimanded him then grinned in jest and said, "Besides everybody knows you dodge actual work whenever you can."

That drew a chuckle from most of the squad but one soul was quiet, staring morosely at the floor. Arbet frowned and said, "Trooper Harvee, something wrong?"

"Leave him be," Egar said softly, "He just got a 'Dear Jarad' letter."

"Bescumber," Arbet swore, "That's a rank thing to do to a man."

"Three years," Harvee growled, "Three years I spend fighting through hell so we could live free and that bitch runs off with the butcher down the road."

"Ah, you've not lost anything Harvee," Ganneth announced loudly, "I've seen her, she looks like she fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down!"

Laughs arose at the ribald humour and Jonas added, "If you're lonely I've got a Mastiff back home, you probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference in the dark!"

More laughs arose and Harvee's scowl lessened at the teasing, the trooper's rough humour letting him know they were with him and understood his pain. Each of them had sacrificed something to be here, each of them had a tale of woe behind them. Ganneth had been a farmer once, until Governor Nugga's cronies had seized his land without explanation or recompense. Jonas' sister had been raped by the local constables and when he dared to demand justice the judge had ordered him beaten to a pulp and thrown out the door. Egar's twin boys had been caught up in a protest march, one that Nugga had sent the PDF to put down. They had merely been caught in the crowd, but that made no difference when the lasrifles cut men down by the hundred. Egar would never see his sons again and his wife had drunk herself into an early grave out sorrow. Arbet himself had been a PDF trooper at that massacre and in the dark hours of the night he couldn't help but wonder if one of the men he'd been ordered to shoot in the back had been Egar's sons.

The cruelty and greed of the Governor had been too much to bear. The blatant theft disguised as 'taxes', his contempt for justice and the hunger of the masses as Nugga lived in obscene luxury had driven the people to revolt.

Arbet shook off the thought and said, "Alright that's enough, be sharp. The Imperials are out there somewhere."

Jonas gripped his pulse rifle hard and muttered, "Sodding Imperials, I'd like to knife the lot of them. They're all the same."

Arbet fixed him with a glare and said, "Save it for the real enemy, the Governor and his cronies. The Imperials are just in the way."

Jonas looked up in surprise and said, "You don't hate them?"

Arbet shrugged, "I hate Nugga but the Imperium is too abstract to hate. I'm sure the Imperials do some good out there, somewhere among the stars, which would be fine if they'd just stay there and mind their own business. It's here on Maraha that they cause problems; propping up Nugga and refusing to see that he is the root of the problem. If they'd only done something about his corruption then this war wouldn't be happening, but since they won't, we'll have to do it ourselves."

Egar shoved some Tabbac into his mouth then muttered, "What about the Tau? Will they be any better than the Imperials?"

"Couldn't possibly be worse," Ganneth retorted, "At least they give us decent gear."

Arbet nodded but then there was a sense of deceleration as the Devilfish coasted to a halt. Arbet pulled out a pulse pistol and cried, "Out, out, out!"

As one the squad scrambled for the doors, it was awkward getting so many men through the small doors but after a moment of shoving they all emerged into the wan daylight. Arbet looked around and saw they had arrived at their goal, the scene of one of the raids. It was a burned out listening post, surrounded by broken bodies that were rotting slowly. The platoon were spilling out of the other Devilfish, sighting down pulse rifles as they swept for enemies. Around the perimeter the Piranha's circled, burst cannons twitching as they sought threats. Arbet drew himself up and clenched his nostrils shut; the smell of dead bodies was never pleasant no matter how many times he breathed it.

The lieutenant called out, "Secure this area and police these bodies."

The platoon obeyed, surrounding the outposts and checking for lingering traps. Egar shouted at a few troopers out of habit then knelt and called out, "Lieutenant, these bodies have been blown apart, that's bolters at work but come and see this."

Arbet looked and saw distinct tracks standing clear of the dirt, he was no expert but he saw a single line of treads and remarked, "Looks like a bike track, but that's bigger than any I've ever seen."

"We are looking for Astartes," Egar commented, "I'd expect them to be big."

"Any idea how many of them there were?" Arbet asked gripping his pulse pistol tightly at the thought of facing the Emperor's Finest.

Egar rubbed his jaw as he looked about saying, "My gut says not many."

"I agree," Arbet uttered, "It wouldn't take many of them to do this. They took this place by surprise, killed everybody then withdrew."

Egar ruminated, "The outpost went quiet twelve hours ago, so they can't have got too far away."

As they were talking the troopers emerged from the outpost and Jonas called, "This place is wrecked and they didn't stick around to gloat over their handiwork."

Arbet accepted this and strode back to the Devilfish, he rooted around in the troop bay then pulled out a plastek map. It represented hundreds of kilometres of moors, the roads and outposts and the rare town or village, laid out in a variety of colours, brown for the rebel's, red for the Imperials. He set this upon the ground and pinned it down with hard rocks to examine it in detail. Egar wandered over and said, "Sir, what are you thinking?"

Arbet waved his hand over the map and said, "They've been hitting outposts and convoys all over the place, there's no discernible pattern to it."

Egar chewed loudly then muttered, "That's a lot of ground to cover, there could be hundreds of units in the field."

Arbet shook his head saying, "Or a few squads moving really fast, don't forget these are Astartes, expect them to be better and quicker than we are."

"You think they are trying to disguise their numbers?" Egar wondered.

"Small units, moving extremely fast," Arbet pondered, "Hitting random targets over a wide area, creating the impression of a larger force. With only a handful of units they could sow confusion and tie up vast numbers of our side looking for an enemy that isn't there."

"Makes our job harder," Egar grumbled, "We could spend months scouring the region looking for a speck of ash in a bonfire while they could slip past us with ease."

Arbet concurred, "We don't have time for that, the Big Push is coming and we need to be certain nothing interferes. Dunham city will be ours soon, then it's a straight run to the Capital, but if our forces are scattered about hunting strays the Imperials will have time to regroup and dig in."

Egar eyed him and said, "What are you thinking?"

Arbet stared at the map as an idea began to germinate and he thought out loud, "They want us to waste time chasing them around in circles. So we shouldn't play their game… instead we should make them come to us."

Egar looked curious as he probed, "How?"

Arbet pointed at a red dot on the map and explained, "They can't have gone too far so we force their hand and lure them into a fixed battle."

Egar looked at the map and sounded confused as he said, "By hitting a tiny village?"

"It's one of the few that still fly the Imperial flag but there's no Guard garrison, only militia," Arbet explained, "Half our platoon could take it with ease and that would be enough to draw out the Astartes. You know the legends, the Space Marines are Terra's heroes, they will be honour-bound to come to its defence. Then we bring up our reserve and catch them in a vice."

Egar nodded, "Could work, if they react as you expect."

Arbet brushed off the critique and said, "Get everybody back on the Devilfish; we have a trap to bait."


	6. Chapter 6

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 6**

The sound of shots rang through the air, rolling over the hills and moors. It was an unusual retort, neither the sharp crackle of lasguns nor the flat bang-drone-bang of bolters. Instead it was a high-pitched whine, sounding like the air was being torn apart by fantastically fast energy pulses. The noise trundled over the hills, carrying for miles, a clear beacon for any with the ears to hear.

The source of this disturbance was a small town, little bigger than a village. It was a singularly unimpressive place, a collection of drab homes and assorted other buildings. A school, a pub, a forge and a temple. Places like this could be found across the wilderness, tiny outposts of civilisation for the few farmers in the area. It was the merest seed from which a city would one day grow but such an endeavour would take centuries to complete. Until then it was just one more dot on the map, an island surrounded by hundreds of miles of empty moor. Yet today someone was taking an interest. Among the narrow streets shots were fired, mixed with faint cries of anger and distress. It seemed ludicrous that any advanced army could be interested in such a place and yet the sounds of battle were unmistakable. Someone was attacking the village, while the inhabitants fought back as best they could.

Sergeant Reddam observed this from afar, taking in the situation through a pair of magnifying glasses. He was laying flat on the crest of a hill, his carapace armour slick with moisture from the vegetation. He was keeping low to not present a silhouette on the horizon but it was barely necessary. He was many miles from the battle and even to his enhanced eyes it was a strain to see what was going on. For a heartbeat he wished for his old Power Armour's autosenses, or a strike cruiser in orbit to relay surveillance picts, but he would have to make do. Alongside him lay Joffel, Tebes and Kazao, all observing the battle with keen interest. Glord and Larus were absent, standing guard over the bikes in a small valley behind them, lest they be surprised by a wandering foe.

Reddam observed the battle keenly but he was puzzled by what he beheld and silently pondered the implications. Then Joffel impatiently hissed, "What are we waiting for? Let's get over there!"

Reddam shook his head and said, "We have no idea what's going on."

"It's only a couple of squads," Joffel exclaimed, "We can take them, it will be a glorious victory!"

Tebes spoke up then, "Listen to that noise, that's Xenos weaponry at work. Only the best of the Rebels receive those."

Kazao agreed, "This is baffling, that village has no strategic or tactical importance. Why would the rebel scum send their best troops to conquer a target of no value?"

Reddam agreed, "I'm not charging in all guns blazing until I know more. Give me options."

Joffel shrugged, "We could sneak closer and find a vulnerability."

Tebes countered, "That would take too long on foot and the bikes are too conspicuous. I say we vox for a Thunderhawk and level the whole village from on high."

Reddam was hissed in surprise, "That village is loyal to the Imperium, you would simply level it?"

Tebes didn't even blink as he said, "There is no strategic value to the objective, we gain nothing from protecting that slum."

"I would prefer to do this up close and personal but his idea works," Joffel reluctantly agreed.

Reddam was disturbed by the callous suggestion but he was relieved to hear Kazao objecting, "Are none of you concerned that Imperial citizens are under attack?"

"Worthless ones," Tebes responded brutally, "Mortal lives are short anyway, come back in fifty years and all those men will be long dead. Why risk our lives when an airstrike is more efficient?"

Reddam cut over the argument saying, "It won't work, the Chapter's two Thunderhawks are both dedicated to supporting Primus Cohort, they won't divert for anything less than an emergency."

Tebes took this phlegmatically and proposed, "Then we should let the enemy attack proceed and while they're distracted we get ahead of their route and ambush them when they leave the village."

But Kazao's countered, "There are too many ways out of there, they could go in any direction. We have to intervene now."

Tebes finally sounded annoyed as he retorted, "Then what do you suggest? Ride in with no plan and no intelligence on the enemy's disposition?"

Kazao's helmet turned as he hissed, "Better that than skulk about shamelessly like craven wretches."

Tebes growled, "Do not mistake my guile for timidity; I saw my whole family slaughtered by Chaos cultists before the Chapter found me. I did not weep over their bodies; instead I took up a knife and stalked the filth through the ruins of my home city. One by one I slit their throats in the dark and left them to rot."

Kazao blinked at the harsh rebuke but still pleaded, "But is it not our duty to fight the enemies of the Emperor and defend His people?"

Joffel interjected, "Don't be foolish, that village is already lost, we all know it. Those people are beyond help. We should use their sacrifice to set up our own attack and exploit the enemy's distraction."

"Leave them to die?" Kazao snapped, "What kind of honourless cur are you?"

Joffel's hand fell to the hilt of his gaunt sword and he snarled, "Say that again."

Reddam's anger boiled over and he snapped, "Stop it both of you. You will not act like snakelets fighting over morsel under my watch."

The pair fell silent under his admonition but Tebes asked, "So what are we to do?"

Reddam breathed deeply to relieve his anger then declared, "We fall back to the bikes and withdraw from this area."

The youths started and Joffel exclaimed, "Run away from a fight?!"

Kazao added, "You would leave those people to die?"

Reddam glared at the pair, holding their gazes until they looked away in submission. Reddam's eyes narrowed as he said, "Your tactical assessments are poor, none of you has considered the terrain. There are miles of open countryside to cross and the enemy would be damned fools not to have left a rear-guard. If we close from behind we will be spotted immediately and slaughtered. If we try to skirt around they will see us coming from miles off. This battle is of no strategic significance, the Codex absolutely condemns pointless last stands and blood-soaked charges to no purpose."

"Hang the Codex," Joffel snorted, "We have a chance here for a glorious victory."

Reddam snapped at him, "That kind of thinking is short-sighted and will see you dead. I have determined that this location is not worth fighting for and you will comply."

Joffel sank back but Kazao sounded troubled as he asked, "Is this... honourable?"

Reddam comforted him, "Remember the mission, we are here to raid and harass, not engage in fixed battles. Our assigned objective is to tie up as much of the enemy force as possible, to keep them off balance and confused. Asymmetric warfare has its own unique demands, remember the Chapter's teachings: the brash army shall be defeated if it does not win, the cunning army is victorious if it does not lose."

Kazao lowered his head in acceptance and Reddam turned to slither down the hill, smearing his carapace with mud and leaves. The hill quickly dipped away, creating a green valley, it was shallow but enough to conceal their presence. He kept low as he descended, alert and watchful for foes. Thankfully nothing emerged as they left the battle behind, the sounds muffled by the crest of the hill. In his hearts Reddam was torn, he too wished to face the foe head on but his mission parameters were clear, he was a raider and could not afford to be brought to battle under any terms other than those of his own choosing.

Yet at the back of his mind he was more concerned about his young charges' attitudes. They were fractious and argumentative in a way that would never be tolerated in another Chapter's front-line units. Any hint of dissent should have been stamped out of them in the Scouts, but they still acted like individual warriors, not a cohesive unit. Individually they were little better, Tebes' disregard for life and Joffel's thirst for glory were a dangerous mix, Kazao at least showed respect for his duty but his tactical acumen was lacking.

Reddam shoved these concerns to the back of his mind as they saw Glord and Larus appear, standing guard over the squad's bikes. Glord had detached the Heavy Bolter and was pointing it down the narrow valley. The box-like drum was far more portable than a belt-fed magazine but the trade-off was ammunition capacity, yet should they ever have to fight without their bikes the heavy weapon could make all the difference. Reddam skidded to the bottom of the valley and rose up, shaking off mud and broken leaves as he said, "Report."

"Quiet as the grave," Glord replied, "Find anything good?"

Reddam shook his head and responded, "Nothing worth mentioning, mount up."

Quickly the squad climbed onto their bikes, Glord attaching the Heavy Bolter to a sturdy rail that ran around the sidecar of the attack bike. Reddam was about to ignite his own engine when he saw Larus stare at his auspex then raise a fist and cry, "Contact."

Reddam's hand froze over the starter rune and he hissed, "Where? How many?"

Larus' eyes were fixed on his auspex and he stated, "One contact, moving fast, headed this way."

Tebes spoke up, "You were right Sergeant, the enemy did leave a rear-guard."

Joffel declared, "Finally a good kill, let me at them!"

"Silence," Reddam spat as his mind calculated distances and strategies. He knew one rear-guard was no threat, they could best it then flee, but could they do so fast enough? The rear-guard would be alerted by the noise of the bikes and would doubtless get the word out before they died. If the Rebel scum had air cover then they could not miss the bikes on this open landscape, they could track every move with impunity.

"We need to take them out quickly and quietly," Reddam mused.

"Understood," said Larus dismounting his attack bike and drawing his poisoned knives.

Glord started and exclaimed, "You're going to take on whatever's coming all alone with only your knives? If you miss they will tear you to shreds!"

"Then I won't miss," Larus stated as he set off at a jog.

In a minute Larus disappeared around a bend in the valley, sinking out of sight behind low cover. Reddam waited still as a rock but could sense the others fidgeting as the minutes crawled by, concerned by whatever was coming. Yet there was nothing to done save trust that Larus could do as he had claimed, though Reddam kept his thumb near his bike's bolter trigger, just in case.

After an interminable wait, Reddam's enhanced hearing picked up a low thrumming, such as would be made by a Land Speeder, not that the Amber Vipers had any of those arcane machines in their arsenal. Suddenly a small vehicle came around the bend, a two-man skimmer of some description with a multi-barrelled canon hanging under its nose. The mortal pilots were moving at a rapid pace and were stunned to be confronted by the line of bikes spread out before them. Their mortal instincts made them freeze for a single second and in that moment two flashes of silver were flung out of cover. The pair of knives were thrown with the perfect accuracy of Transhuman aim and caught both rebels in the side of the neck, even though they were moving fast at an oblique angle.

The mortals died before they even knew they were under attack and the machine coasted to a halt, hovering forlornly on the edge of the valley. Larus rose from cover and jogged over to retrieve his knives, then ran back and jumped into his saddle. Glord glanced up and muttered, "Remind me not to make you angry."

Hastily Reddam started his engine and he cried, "Move out, it won't be long until the rebels notice their patrol is missing. Be swift Brothers, we need to be far away before they realise we were ever here!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 7**

A temple was before him, its walls scorched and blackened, pock-marked with blast marks. It was an ugly building, half covered in creeping moss and the Aquila over the doorway was green where the brass had oxidised. Yet it loomed over the village, far grander than the lowly one-story hovels the locals called home. It was an unimpressive place for a last stand and yet here that was its current role.

Arbet leaned out of the cover, lurking in the doorway of an emptied home and eyed the building. Within its thick walls the militia defending the village lurked, clutching their las-locks tightly. Arbet didn't even know this place's name and he hadn't been expecting a fight but the militia had reacted with surprising swiftness, firing wildly at the approaching Devilfish then retreating into the temple. Since then they had fired at any target they could see but thankfully their enthusiasm was no compensation for decent aim and they had failed to kill any of the Brownshirts.

The rebels for their part had been content to lay down suppressing bursts of pulse rifle fire, keeping the locals trapped. Arbet had been in no rush at first, far more concerned with the prospect of a Space Marine counter-attack, but this stalemate had carried on for three hours now and his patience had run out. Through a window Arbet spied a tall man with fiery hair and an Aquila tattoo on his forehead, unmistakably an Imperial preacher. He was leading the resistance and probably was responsible for this whole village's pro-Imperial stance. Arbet saw the man strutting up and down and whispered, "C'mon, take the shot, do it."

Suddenly there was a crack of pulse rifle fire from a rooftop from trooper Ganneth who had been waiting for a clear shot. The micro-burst of plasma hit the preacher and blew him over, killing him instantly. There were shrieks of alarm from within but Arbet yelled loudly, "Surrender! Surrender and we promise no harm will come to you!" There was a minute of argumentative shouting and then men and women began to appear, hands high and rifles discarded in surrender. The people were despondent and defeated, about two score of them, the bulk of this village population. They were made to kneel by the Brownshirts, Trooper Jonas taking the opportunity to kick one man hard with his boot.

"Stop that, we do not abuse prisoners!" Arbet snapped at him then faced the people saying, "You have a made a wise choice and will be well treated. A transport will come and collect you, to take you to a safe place until this war is over. You will be fed and clothed and when the war ends you will be allowed to join us in a free Maraha."

One elderly woman jerked forward and spat on the Lieutenant's boot. She was quickly subdued by here compatriots, who urged her not to provoke their captors. Arbet left them under guard and sighed to himself, why were these people so determined to cling to an Imperium that cared nothing for them?

Arbet wiped the spittle off against a rock then found Sergeant Egar overseeing the search for lingering resistors. The Lieutenant came to stand with him and said, "Any more?"

"Don't think so Sir," Egar replied, "Looks like we got them all. Any word from the reserve?"

"Nothing," Arbet informed him sadly, "I was hoping this would draw out the Space Marines, but there was no sign of them. Looks like I was wrong."

Egar looked unconcerned as he said, "Maybe they left the area already?"

Arbet thought upon it and said, "Perhaps… we can only hope that one of the other platoons has more luck."

Egar nodded, "At least we took out one more Imperial strongpoint."

"I'd hardly call this a strongpoint," Arbet muttered, "Barely more than a few families clinging to old ideas. I'd wager none of these people has ever been to the cities, they don't know what life is like under the Governor's rule."

Egar pointed out, "We'd have to have come round them up sooner or later, people like this would keep fighting till the end. No matter if we kick the Imperials off the planet and string up Nugga, they'd still fight us."

"We can only be patient until they see sense," Arbet responded distractedly.

He was about to inquire as to how long it would take for the summoned transport to appear but then Trooper Harvee jogged over. He pulled up before them and made a salute, somewhat awkwardly given the cumbersome pulse rifle in his hands and said, "Sir, something's wrong."

Arbet straightened up and barked, "Well don't just stand there, out with it man."

Harvee hastily reported, "One of the perimeter patrols has gone quiet, we've lost contact with Piranha three."

Arbet's palms began to itch and he felt a thrill of anticipation run through him as he said, "Have they been attacked?"

"Dunno," Harvee stated, "There was no sign, they missed their scheduled check-in and just fell silent."

"You think it's… them?" Egar interjected.

"It might be," Arbet stated, "Pull everybody back to the Devilfish and tell them to be on guard. Alert the reserves, we may need them at a moment's notice."

His orders sent the troopers into a flurry of activity, hurriedly coming back to their transports. In a few minutes they were all assembled and ready to go, minus five men he left to guard the prisoners. With a whoosh of anti-gravitic force the Devilfish's took off, racing over the landscape with eerie smoothness.

Minutes crawled by as the Devilfish soared on and the troopers looked distinctly nervous. Arbet tried to look confident, but in truth he was sweating under his collar. Everybody knew they were facing the prospect of encountering Space Marines, the mythic demi-gods of Imperial history. Their whole lives they had heard magnificent tales of the Adeptus Astartes, stories of impossible victories over unbeatable odds. Arbet could only hope those stories were exaggerated and that their Tau guns could tip the odds in their favour. In a few minutes the Devilfish ground to halt and the squads piled out, emerging into the grey daylight. They seemed to be at the head of a shallow valley, the two Devilfish floating with their burst canons pointed up the dip between two hills. Arbet surveyed the ground and saw little cover, the ground was low and free of boulders but the valley bent before them, obscuring the far end.

"Troopers Jonas and Harvee take the drones and scout ahead," Arbet ordered, "Everybody else advance in pairs, cover each other and for the love of sanity don't stand in front of the burst cannons."

The squads obeyed, moving up the valley with their rifles clutched tightly. The two designated Troopers jogged ahead, followed by the dish like devices that had detached from the Devilfish. They disappeared around the bend and Arbet waited with bated breath as the rest followed slowly behind, wary of what they would find.

After a minute Jonas reappeared and yelled, "All clear, but you should see this. We've found the missing Piranha."

Intrigued Arbet increased his pace and came about the bend. Before him the valley ended in a steep slope but before that floated the skimmer, sitting forlornly on its own, floating on its anti-gravitic cushion. Arbet crept closer, tightly gripping his pulse pistol but he could tell at a glance that the drivers were dead. The squads spread out but Egar joined him and peered at the bodies saying, "Troops Nahab and Candar, looks like they were taken by surprise."

Arbet shoved his distress into the back of his mind and examined the bodies saying, "Somebody jumped them, stabbed them in the neck before they could react."

Egar glanced at the ground and muttered, "Scant cover here and they were no fools, whoever took them was good, inhumanely good."

The pair shared a significant look but then Trooper Harvee called, "Look sir, tracks!"

Arbet stared ahead and did indeed see tracks, the same wide treads he had beheld at the outpost. There were many more of them this time, a medley of overlapping marks that made numbers impossible to guess.

Egar touched one of the bodies and said, "Cold already, this happened a while ago. Must have happened while we were fighting in the village."

"Bescumber," Arbet cursed, "That's a three-hour window. They could be a hundred leagues from here by now."

"Maybe our air cover could still find them?" Egar suggested.

"Possibly," Arbet said with no real hope in his voice, "Jonas, get the Devilfish to vox back to base and report a possible contact. Egar, we should bury these bodies and assign the Piranha a new crew."

Egar assigned a couple of troopers to the task and then turned back saying, "It's odd they would risk killing one patrol but leave the rest of us alone. Why would they do that?"

Arbet was eyeing a trail of mud and broken bracken headed up the steep slope and he said, "I don't know, but I intend to find out. Follow me."

With that the pair began to climb the hill before them. It was hard going for the ground was damp with the ever-present dew and the leaves of the planets were wet and slippery. More than once Arbet had to double over and use his hands to pull himself up while his boots skidded on the slick mud. In no time at all his uniform was splattered with dirt but he persisted, following the trail of broken vegetation step by step.

Thankfully the hill, while steep, wasn't too high and in a few minutes they reached the end of the trail and emerged onto the summit. Arbet cupped his hands around his eyes and peered into the distance, surveying the landscape. The Devilfish had brought him further than he had realised, travelling over the rolling moors with surprising speed but in the distance he could just make out the village they had overrun.

"They were watching us," Arbet exclaimed in shock, "They were right here, watching us attack an Imperial village and they did nothing."

Egar straightened up and brushed the mud off his hands and said, "They left without firing a shot, that doesn't sound right. The legends of Space Marines say they're sodding Imperial heroes. Always charging to the rescue at the last minute, defending the helpless, fighting the monsters to protect the righteous, all the usual Imperial propaganda."

Arbet felt a worm of doubt creep into his mind and he pondered, "Not all the legends say that. The Ecclesiarchy tried to suppress them but there are some stories that paint a far darker picture."

"Oh?" Egar responded in surprise, "I've not heard those ones."

"It's not the sort of thing the officer corps like to spread about, bad for morale and all that," Arbet admitted, "But there have always been rumours. I heard tales that when the Disciples of Caliban fought on Meridian they abandoned the defence against the Tyranids to go haring off on some mission of their own. The Marines Malevolent shelled civilian camps when Orks got past the wire on Armageddon. I even heard, when the Angels Sanguine fought in the Morgall Crusade, whole towns would go mysteriously missing."

Egar shook his head saying, "Rumour and gossip, that's all this is, you know how tales grow in the telling. I hear plenty of stories of the Ultramarines, they aren't like that."

"I don't think we're dealing with Ultramarines," Arbet confessed with a worried tone.

"Right," Egar stated, "What are we to do?"

Arbet thought about it and ordered, "Go and get the squads to mount up, we'll have to keep mobile. Contact high command and tell them we need more aerial cover and to forward any and all distress calls to us, sooner or later these Space Marines will show their hand. If we move fast enough we may catch up."

Egar saluted and began making his way back down the hill, leaving the Lieutenant to gaze out across the moors. He tried to look calm but in his heart he was worried, now he was facing the prospect of confronting the Space Marines himself the bright and rosy picture of Astartes he had grown up with seemed childish. The darker legends suddenly appeared far more realistic and likely to be true, in which case he and his men were in serious trouble. Anxiously Arbet leaned down and touched the damp ground where these warriors had been and hoped against hope that he was wrong about what kind of monsters stalked this world.


	8. Chapter 8

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 8**

From the sky fell a cross-shaped shadow, its angular silhouette crossing the ground with alacrity. It was a heavy craft, covered with guns and armour thick enough to survive the inferno of re-entry. It had was a distinct lack of beauty and grace, such trivialities irrelevant when set against the concerns of war. This was not a machine built to draw admiring glances but to rend and tear anything that dared stand against its makers: the Thunderhawk gunship _Viper's Bite_.

 _Viper's Bite_ flew over the bleak moors, closing rapidly upon a great conurbation. This city was nestled into a crook of the surrounding mountains, set at the head of a valley that stretched beyond sight, even from this altitude. Mile upon mile of homes were mixed with industrial zones, mercantile area and spaceport facilities. It was small, by Imperial standards, but it was the largest metropolis on Maraha, ruling capital and seat of the Governor: Kalcha city, the last bastion of Imperial resistance.

 _Viper's Bite_ approached the city, refuting all challenges from defensive positions with vox-calls carrying the highest authorities. Nothing waylaid her but at the last moment she veered away from the city centre, headed towards a small base set on the outskirts of the city. _Viper's Bite_ wasted no time to land, setting down upon the Ferrocrete with bursts of braking thrust. For a long moment the gunship sat there, engines shimmering with heat, then the ramp lowered down and disgorged the passengers. First out was Chapter Master Coluber, his head held high and Venom sheathed at his waist, followed by two squads of Brothers. Last out was Apothecary Shrios, his servitors bearing away the body of Brother Selat, to have his armour reclaimed. Coluber's helm was absent, revealing his stern features as he surveyed the base. Everywhere he looked the mortal-chattels of the Chapter laboured, working wearily to ready the Amber Viper's gear for whatever may be required. The facilities the Chapter had to spare were basic workshops, hangers, barracks and medicae buildings, but they served.

Beyond this picture of brisk efficiency was a stunning vista of the surrounding mountains, the snow-capped heights looming over the city. The mountains narrowed to a point which was bridged by a massive dam, filling a quarter of the horizon. Fifteen million cubic yards of Ferrocrete had been poured into that vast edifice and the reservoir behind was used to power cities across half a continent. In Coluber's reckoning it was a triumph of Imperial engineering, a shame it was wasted on such a miserable backwater world as Maraha.

Coluber's attention was drawn away as the Chapter's other Thunderhawk, _Poisoned Fang_ , set down. It landed smoothly and hastily disgorged its own passengers, three more squads led by Battle-Captain Ferrac. Ferrac sent the squads on their way then hailed the Chapter Master and swiftly strode over. Coluber dismissed Sergeant Torvus to tend to his squad then turned to meet Ferrac as he closed.

The Battle-Captain was a brutal figure, scarred like an old mastiff who had seen too many fights, but his eyes were eager and he had a proud bearing that suited him. Coluber had clashed with Ferrac more times than he could count, their differing duties and personalities meaning they agreed on little. Yet there were none more loyal and committed to the cause than Ferrac and Coluber counted the officer as his closest friend. Coluber knew some were disgruntled with his stern rule but Ferrac would never countenance dissension in the ranks, a fact that he had often used his fists to demonstrate.

Ferrac hailed Coluber and called out, "All present and accounted for my Lord."

Coluber nodded as he remarked, "Good, I was concerned for a moment. That last fight in Dunham city was too close."

Ferrac grimaced and spat, "Running from Rebel scum sits ill, especially when we could have fought on."

"We knew going in that Dunham city was a lost cause," Coluber remarked, "But we delayed the rebels long enough to buy us time to prepare for the next phase of the war."

Ferrac muttered, "I could have taken them, one hard thrust into the heart of their lines and I would deliver you a swift victory."

Suddenly the voice of Shrios' arose declaiming, "You mean like you did at Gujarat Drift? Another victory like that, Ferrac, and there won't be a Chapter left!"

Coluber hated to admit it but the Apothecary was right, the victory over the Orks in the deep-space shoals of Gujarat had come at too high a price. The nascent Amber Vipers had lost irreplaceable Brothers, armour and gene-seed in the claustrophobic nightmare of the boarding actions. That alone had convinced Coluber that the Amber Vipers were not ready for traditional warfare, that they had to be cunning and choose their battles prudently. Henceforth every engagement had to be precisely judged, the blood spent measured against the potential gains. One misstep would snuff out the Amber Vipers forevermore.

Ferrac grimaced and snapped, "Was there something you wanted or did you come to make snide comments?"

Shrios took it in stride and stated, "Actually, I was going to ask why the shuttles aren't flying."

Coluber's head snapped up for the base should be a hive of activity, loading supplies to be taken up into orbit, but it was eerily quiet. Coluber's eyes narrowed and he hissed, "Find Nathanal, now." The trio set out, striding across the Ferrocrete looking for the man they sought. A few questions to passing chattels and they found him standing in a stiflingly hot hanger, arguing with a gathering of men.

Nathanal was a short mortal, in grubby overalls, with the brand of a spiral in a starburst upon his shoulder. Like everything they owned he had come to the Chapter from elsewhere, born into the service of others and acquired in dubious circumstances, but he served faithfully. Nathanal was the chief serf-artisan, the man responsible for maintaining their gear and vehicles. Three first-generation warriors were training under him to learn the eldritch mysteries of logic and science, but they were a long way from being Techmarines. So, for now, Nathanal was the final word on matters technical.

The group he was arguing with were a gaggle of heavy-set men in rich robes. Their fingers glittered with precious rings and their jowls hung under their portly chins. They were sweating in the close heat of the hanger, their hair slick with expensive oils as servants waved large feathery fans over them. At the forefront was a man with an obese belly, whose watery eyes looked unaccustomed to strong daylight. This was Governor Nugga, lord of Maraha.

Coluber had met a variety of Planetary Governors and had found the stereotype of them being corrupt and incompetent to be greatly unfair. Ambitious, driven and ruthless yes, all Governors had to be that, but it usually demanded a ferocious level of competence too. Nugga however seemed to have waddled out of a poorly-written dramaturge's play, the inbred sop crowds would jeer and throw fruit at.

As they approached Nathanal was saying loudly, "These delays are unacceptable."

Nugga wrung his fat fingers and muttered, "Can't be avoided, unfortunate delays happen. We are at war after all."

"Don't talk to me about war," Nathanal declared, "I've seen more wars than you've had hot meals. I know when I'm being fobbed off with excuses."

Coluber strode up to the crowd and snarled, "What is this?!"

The crowd of fops and cronies shrank back before the eight-foot Transhumans but Nugga seemed oblivious to the danger as he uttered, "Your supplies are coming, but there is a delay."

Coluber loomed over the fat man and hissed, "Are you trying to renege on our pact?"

Nugga shook his head, making his jowls sway as he said, "Never, I will fulfil our bargain, I simply need more time."

Coluber's eyes glowered and he said, "Time is something you don't have."

From the crowd another voice issued, one of the hangers-on whining, "Your demands are outrageous, you seek to beggar us!"

Ferrac stepped in to growl angrily, "You had better explain that remark."

The man swallowed but dared to protest, "You want lakes of Promethium fuel, tons upon tons of ordnance, missiles, melta-flasks, bombs and las-canons packs, aircraft parts and tools, thousands of press-ganged peasants for your starships and enough rations to feed a city. The costs are extortionate, you're bleeding us dry!"

Ferrac fixed the man with an unblinking glare and whispered, "You… what is your name?"

"Kardas," the man uttered with a worried tone, "Magnate of the Umber Hills mining consortium."

"Kardas," Ferrac hissed low and threateningly, "Know that I will never forget your face."

Kardas went silent as his courage ran out, cowed by the unsubtle implication of violence. Then Coluber placed one massive gauntlet on Nugga's shoulder, making the man's knees sag as the Chapter Master growled, "Nugga, you and I forged a pact. I swore to guarantee your rule over this world in the Emperor's name, in return you vowed to supply my Chapter everything we require to fight this war, and the next. There is an agreement between us and I shall hold to my word but I would hate to think you are trying to backpedal."

Nugga sagged under the weight of the gauntlet upon his shoulder and spluttered, "No… no of course not."

Coluber kept the pressure upon the man's shoulder saying, "Then we have an accord?"

"Yes, "Nugga squeaked, "Yes… anything you need."

"Good," Coluber uttered lifting his hand, "Go see to it, immediately."

Desperately the gaggle of men waddled off, fanned by their servants as they tried not to piss themselves. Coluber watched them go and was satisfied the Governor would not dare to defy him again; the supplies would start flowing again soon. Shrios spoke up then to say, "If we were on one of the Chapter's ships I would throw that man out an airlock for wasting good oxygen."

Nathanal concurred, "The Imperial Guard should have shot him the moment they arrived. The rebels would have thrown a victory parade for them if they had."

Coluber shook his head saying, "Enough, he is the appointed Governor of this world and we have to deal with him. If his reign has failed that is a matter for the Inquisition to deal with."

"Not too soon," Shrios muttered, "The last thing we want is an Inquisitor poking into our affairs."

Coluber agreed wholeheartedly but noted that Ferrac was oddly silent. He looked at the Battle-Captain and inquired, "Something vexes thee?"

Ferrac sighed, "Does this not strike you as being beneath us? Selling our martial skills to the likes of fools like that, we are acting as mercenaries, not Astartes."

Coluber faced him directly and asked, "Do you doubt that it is our duty to defend the Emperor's sovereignty over this world?"

"No my lord," Ferrac replied.

Coluber asked, "And do you doubt that this world stands upon the brink?"

"No," Ferrac answered, "We are the last hope for this planet, without us an Imperial world will fall to Xenos domination."

"Then there is no cause for concern," Coluber explained, "We will fight and the Governor will deliver the supplies to help us grow. A mutually beneficial arrangement, that serves both the Emperor and the Chapter."

Ferrac nodded reluctantly but Coluber knew he was still not happy. He let the matter lie though and turned to ask, "Shrios, have your medicaes found any potential recruits?"

Shrios looked glum as he said, "Few and far between, the war orphans of this world are weak and timid. Blood of Dorn, they're the dregs of the galaxy, all the good ones went over to the rebels."

"Fang-rot," Ferrac interjected, "We say Fang-rot, not Blood of Dorn, it brings up too much of the past."

"As you will," Shrios stated rolling his eyes, "Still can't get used to that."

Coluber cut them off saying, "The Rebel scum will doubtless be advancing upon the capital even now, we need to be prepared. Ferrac, take Primus Cohort and engage in hit and run attacks on their army, slow their advance across the countryside. Secundus and Tertius Cohorts will keep doing what they do best. Shrios, keep looking for recruits while I organise the defensive emplacements around the city. I will take whatever's left of the Guard's reprisal force to present a strong front but their ranks have been decimated, we need a militia to bulk up their numbers. Nathanal, get those shuttles flying again; I want all our supplies in our ship's holds before the first Rebel lays eyes upon this city. Move it, time is not on our side."

With that everybody saluted and departed, leaving Coluber behind to ponder upon their next move and whether his strategy would ultimately lead to victory or defeat.


	9. Chapter 9

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 9**

Under the warm sun an airbase bustled with activity. It was a mediocre place, little more than a lone strip of Ferrocrete, lined with prefabricated hangers, dormitories and a single control tower. Men in brown uniforms laboured over PDF Lightings, Thunderbolts and Marauder bombers while servitors dragged pallets to and fro. It was a hurriedly put together forward base, a typical hardscrabble posting for a few squadrons to operate from. Yet this picture was marred by the sight of smooth, hulled craft, a strange trio of aircraft that had no business being on a human world. These were tended to by hard-eyed men, who cast warning glares at any passing labourer who dared to wander too close. Idly curiosity was not welcome here, not around the Brownshirt's precious machines, which had been gifted unto them by the Tau.

Everything about this base screamed its temporary nature, from the shallow latrine pits to the cooking stoves shimmering in open tents. This base had been thrown together in a hurry as the front advanced and would be torn down just as fast when the war moved on. But for now it served to provide air cover as the rebel closed upon their goal: the capital city and its pitiful handful of defenders. Every man labouring under the clear sky wondered when they would finally crush the last dregs of the Imperium and they oft asked each other when the 'Big Push' would come.

But they should have been paying more attention to their own situation.

Suddenly and without warning an explosion ripped through the base, a blast of fire arising from a fuel bowser that spread black smoke widely. Men started in shock, thinking that some accident had occurred but they were cruelly disabused of that notion when the roar of promethium engines arose and the smoke parted to reveal an arrowhead of bikes hurtling through the flaming debris. They shot into the bewildered gaggles of men, mowing them down with tight bursts of bolter fire that blew rebels apart with ease.

Sergeant Reddam smiled grimly to see the rebel's falling before him, their mortal reflexes so slow that they seemed to be statues in his path. He swerved his bike to and fro, blasting men apart with quick bursts of fire as his squad spread out to sow havoc. To his left Tebes and Joffel were driving right into milling ranks of bewildered men, breaking limbs and crushing men under their wide tyres. They left a trail of broken bodies in their wake, a showy but effective strategy in Reddam's opinion.

To the right Larus and Glord were trundling along, their bolters and Heavy Bolter mowing down men with contemptuous ease. Glord was laughing merrily as he swung his weapon left and right, blasting away with abandon, the joy of battle filling him from head to toe. Larus was terse as always, calling out looming targets with mechanical repetition.

In Reddam's wake trailed Kazao, his helmet glinting in the sunlight. He alone was not firing wildly into the crowds, saving his Grenades for more important targets. He fired single shots at munitions trucks and cargo pallets, each one sending up clouds of smoke and fire as secondary explosions set the base ablaze. As they veered nearer to the aircraft, from which panicked ground crews were running, he put a Krak grenade into the first one and the plane blew apart in an achingly bright explosion as its fuel tanks erupted.

Reddam looked upon the devastation and was pleased for it was good to be on the attack again. For two days he had led his squad into the wilderness, driving as far away as they could. Ever since the attack on the village he had felt watching eyes seeking them, his auspex picking up high-flying aircraft scouring the landscape. Many times they had been forced to stop and hide in gullies and culverts, concealing their bikes as best they could. The intervals between aerial passes had decreased each time and it was clear that the rebels were on their tail.

Reddam had felt the net closing around them, their hunters growing in number and cunning. Time was running out and the squad's options had been dwindling fast. Reddam had known it was inevitable that they would be discovered and surrounded by numbers even they could not match. Thankfully the Adeptus Astartes had a tried and tested contingency for such times, when outnumbered, outgunned and outmanoeuvred they would always go on the offensive.

Reddam swerved to avoid an overturned trolley and drove into a man huddling behind it. The man barely had time to scream before the bike crushed him, spraying blood over its wheel and cowling. Reddam grimaced at the untidy kill but affirmed that the rebels deserved no better. They had not been expecting the squad to double back and had not cast their gaze close to their own base, it was sloppy and amateurish and this base had been caught completely unawares, an unforgivable error. The perimeter guards had been killed with ease before they could send a warning and the barbed wire perimeter had fallen to the heavy bikes with barely a jolt. Now the Amber Vipers were in among the helpless rebels and wrecking absolute carnage.

Reddam saw rebels fleeing before him but knew it was only temporary, shock and confusion would only last so long, the squad had to maximise their advantage. Reddam lifted his voice and cried, "Larus and Glord, strafe the dormitories, kill any you find within! Joffel take out that hanger, leave none alive inside. Kazao, spike the planes on the runway and Tebes run interference. I am going for those filthy Xeno planes!"

The squad broke up, racing away with weapons blazing. Splitting up was a risk but they had to inflict as much damage as they could in as short a time as possible. Reddam jerked his handlebars to the right and his bike skidded about, coming to bear on the isolated alien craft. A twist of his throttle and he was hurled back in his saddle, the acceleration peeling his lips back over his teeth.

The Xenos machines swelled in his vision, sitting there empty and inviting, but they were not undefended. Reddam growled in anger as he saw a score of men dashing into his path, diving behind tool trolleys and cargo pallets for cover. They were armed with feeble lasguns and bayonets, but there were many of them and in the crowded confines encircling the planes Reddam's bike would be a liability.

Reddam saw the situation change and adapted, reacting on instinct he steered his bike towards the biggest knot of men hiding, behind a water vat, and accelerated right at their cover. The vat grew before him, swelling as he hurtled towards it but at the last possible instant he slammed on his front brakes and screeched to a halt. Inertia sent the rear wheel flying upwards, almost flipping the bike, but Reddam had already let go and let momentum send him up and over the vat.

Such a feat would have been impossible in power armour, nothing short of jump-pack could lift such weight, but Reddam wore lighter scout-plate and knew that his leap would carry him clear of the vat and bring him down upon the waiting men. It was a bold strategy and one that would have made an outrageous tale had it gone flawlessly. Unfortunately the moment his boots left the footplates he felt himself begin to tumble, spinning head over heels in an uncontrolled roll. What should have been a graceful leap became an ungainly flop.

Thankfully the rebels had not been expecting such an unorthodox approach and were as shocked as Reddam was when he came crashing into them, going down in a tangle of flailing limbs and cries of distress. Reddam sprawled in the heap of men and berated himself for his own recklessness; he had intended to land on his feet not his head. Vandire's hairy arse, he cursed, how did the Eldar make this look so easy?

The pile of men began to stir but Reddam recovered from the shock faster, instinctively lashing out with knees and elbows to crack skulls, crush throats and break bones. His fists and steel-capped boots were lethal weapons in their own right and he knew exactly how to use them. With a flurry of blows he dispatched four men before he had even gained his feet and the last two he finished off with crushing stamps.

He had no time to celebrate his victory for another gaggle of men came charging around the corner, bayonets flashing in the light of distant fires. Reddam grinned as he reached over his shoulder and drew his power spear in one smooth movement, then he leapt to meet them. Traditional doctrine held that a long weapon like a spear was useless in close quarters, compared to a short knife, but such lessons did not account for the speed and power of Astartes muscles.

Reddam met the first man with a two-handed thrust that slipped past the guard and plunged into the exposed throat. He whipped the spear back, blood steaming off the energised point, as he swept the haft about and caught the next man in the side. Ribs shattered under the blow, driving shards of bone into the rebel's chest and the man went down with blood frothing from his lungs. Then the rest of the enemies piled in, swinging bayonets wildly at the lone warrior.

Reddam snarled as he felt knives stabbing into his muscles, one to the shoulder and another in his side. Such blows would have been meaningless were he clad in power armour but with only light scout-plate the flashing knives drew blood and he felt his body burn as his implanted organs fought to make good the damage. Reddam pushed the pain to the back of his mind and concentrated solely upon fighting back, knowing if he paused for a moment then he would die. The rebels piled in with wild cries, surrounding him in a ring of knives. Yet Reddam's spear spun and smashed constantly, hitting enemies with the haft as much as the point. He kicked a knee with his steel-capped boot and heard bones shatter, then he ran a man through the heart with the point of his spear, even as a blade scored his back. He head-butted another, knocking the man unconscious then smashed an elbow down on the next man's shoulder, shattering his clavicle.

The rebels were falling to his strength but they fought on regardless, determined to bring him down. Reddam's world shrank to the frantic circle of hacking and shouting men. He spun and ducked and weaved, constantly in motion and never ceasing to fight. Two men came at him together and he caught their bayonets on the haft of his spear, one huge lunge sent the pair flying backwards, knocking over a third man. Then Reddam spun on his heel, slashing the blade of his spear horizontally to decapitate another rebel. He came out of his spin and drove the spear's butt into a rebel's belly, causing the man to double over vomiting profusely. Then he smashed the shaft laterally into a rebel's face, causing the head to snap back so hard he heard the neck snapping.

Reddam spun about looking for more foes but was surprised to find no more were coming. Around his feet were piles of groaning and bleeding men, more than a few already cooling in death. Reddam heaved in a gasp of air, feeling every cut he had not noticed in the melee. He had not felt so weary in years and realised he had become too accustomed to his power armour, the way it boosted his strength and dispensed pain-balms without his conscious thought.

Reddam drew himself up and wearily dispatched the remaining rebels, his spear bloody with gore. Once the last was dead he wandered over to a fuel bowser and twisted the spigot open, spilling rich jet-fuel upon the ground. Then he went and retrieved his bike, he wrestled it upright and as he did so glanced at the water vat and muttered, "Thank the Throne nobody saw that, I'd never hear the end of it."

Finally he mounted his bike and tossed a flare over his shoulder before driving off. Moments later the spilt fuel ignited and the site erupted in a massive fireball, blowing the jets to smithereens. Reddam didn't bother to look back, his eyes fixed upon his next target. Before him loomed the control tower and he voxed, "Everybody follow me, the last resistance is in that tower. Let's finish this."


	10. Chapter 10

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 10**

Smoke and flames billowed before him, filling the air with choking black clouds. It waxed strong but Reddam was undaunted, driving his bike right through the sooty miasma. He felt heat scorching his arms through the torn fabric of his sleeves and his throat grew raspy as the thick muck coated the back of his mouth. For a single second all was darkness as the sun disappeared but then he burst out of the cloud and roared into the daylight.

Before him rose the blocky column of the control tower, its top a glassic oval protruding over the sides of the walls. This was the last bastion of the rebels and would surely be the best-defended location. Reddam knew a fight up its length would be hard but it was essential and had to be fast. Doubtless those within would already be voxing for aid.

Reddam screeched up to the base of the tower and saw his squad assembling, pulling their bikes to a halt before a wide set door. Reddam saw their eager faces, flushed with the rush of the fight, well except for Kazao whose face was hidden behind his helmet. Reddam wasted not a moment but leapt from his saddle crying, "Joffel, Tebes, Kazao with me. Larus and Glord, guard our rear and protect the bikes, don't let anyone follow behind us."

The attack bike, took up a guarding position around the perimeter while the others dismounted, Kazao pausing to draw forth a small, Kreig pattern, single-shot Grenade Launcher and a bandolier of rounds. Reddam led them to the tower's door but paused beside it. He saw the entrance was narrow and confined; the perfect place for an ambush. The Sergeant waved Kazao up and the warrior reached to his belt to take out a smoke grenade. It was the work of a moment to open the breach and slot in the fat round, then he snapped it shut with a click. A mortal Guardsmen would have to rest such a weapon against his shoulder but Kazao's enhanced strength let him wield it one-handed. He crept up to the door jamb and then leaned out and fired a round with a flat sound of 'phoot'.

He was only exposed for a heartbeat but a flurry of lasrifle fire peppered the doorway, one bolt blasting a scorch mark over his shoulder carapace. Yet Kazao's shot sailed through the doorway, detonating in a cloud of acrid smoke. "Charge!" Reddam yelled as he dived through the doorway. Instantly visibility fell to nothing, even his eyes unable to penetrate the darkness without the aid of autosenses. Yet Astartes were trained to use all their senses, fighting blind if necessary and the coughing of choking men was more than enough to tell him where his enemies were.

Reddam felt his multi-lung expanding as it filtered out the gas in the air and he swung his spear left and right, feeling satisfying impacts as he struck down rebels. Behind him came his younger Brothers, enthusiastically following his example. They moved through the ground floor, slitting throats and clubbing men to death with merciless efficiency. Within a minute the gas cleared, revealing a concourse filled with overturned desks and piles of dead bodies.

"That was easy!" Kazao exhorted.

"Don't get cocky," Reddam snarled, "This was only the ground level."

Reddam led the way across the floor, headed towards a small security post at the back. He ignored the mechanical elevators and kicked in a door, revealing a flight of stairs behind. To be trapped in a confined box would have been suicidal so taking the stairs was the wiser course, unfortunately the enemy thought the same thing and before he could take a step a scrum of men piled out.

The rebels seemed utterly shocked by the sight awaiting them and Reddam reflexively thrust his spear into the heart of the first man he saw. Yet the rest poured out the door and fell upon him, literally bowling him over in a scrum of bodies. Reddam roared in anger and heaved his weight about but the sheer numbers pinned him down, trapping his limbs and suffocating him. Reddam felt hands clawing at his face and tried to bite back but he was immobilised, in moments a knife would pierce something vital and end his story once and for all. For a moment he thought death had found him at last but then he heard a harsh cry of outrage and felt bodies being physically torn off him. He thrashed his shoulders and managed to clear some space and saw his younger Brothers battering at the scrum of men.

Joffel was dancing back and forth trading blows with a man who fought back with a lasrife's bayonet. The Amber Viper wheeled his sword in the air, describing wide circles, it was showy but served as a distraction. The man fell for his feint and tried to lunge with his rifle but Joffel side-stepped and slashed the curved edge in a lightning strike. The rebel snarled in pain as his arm was torn open but he tried to recover and stab back in return. Joffel parried then went low and slashed his blade across a thigh. The rebel stumbled as his leg went out from under him and in that moment Joffel reversed his strike. The bone edge caught the man in the belly and ripped upwards, opening him from naval to neck. Stinking guts spilled out as the rebel collapsed in a horrifying pile of gore and died.

Meanwhile Tebes was facing off against a pair of men with his pneumatic hammer. The mining tool was point heavy, causing him to swing it in wide loops around his body, but the momentum was irresistible. The first rebel was caught alongside the jaw by the flat head and fell down, spitting shattered teeth to the ground. The other tried to take advantage of the opening and scored his bayonet across Tebes' carapace armour but failed to draw blood. Tebes drew back his hammer and with a snarl of contempt drove it head first into the man's hip, shattering his pelvis. Then he swung it an overhand sweep and brought the pick end down right on the rebels' skull. Brains sprayed everywhere but the Tebes was already drawing back and almost distractedly finished off the first man with a lazy blow.

Kazao was having more much difficulty, his Grenade Launcher useless in such close confines. Yet he reversed his grip and used it as a crude cudgel, breaking bones with short, blunt chops. Reddam felt the weight upon him lifting and was able to throw off the last attackers, rising to his feet and freeing his spear. The Sergeant threw himself into the melee and with his flashing blade in play the rest of the rebels went down in moments.

Joffel was elated and said, "Did you see me kill that man? I was on fire!"

"Fast or slow doesn't matter," Tebes countered, "Death cares not, and I killed twice as many men as you did."

Reddam found their self-congratulations unmerited, a proper squad would have killed fivefold as many enemies in half the time. He would have to drill his charges in melee combat at a later date, but for now they had a mission to complete. He drew in a breath and said, "Enough, we have to reach the top. Follow me."

With that he led them up the tower, taking the steps two at a time. They swiftly emerged onto the control level and found a room with a panoramic view and lines of cogitators, controls and servitors, still chattering away. The crews were absent, and Reddam guessed they had all been killed racing down the stairs, but that did not leave it deserted. Facing the window was a single man, with his hands hidden by a long brown coat. He had gold braiding on the shoulders and a starched cap upon his head. An officer if Reddam ever saw one. The man turned as they entered, revealing a face made old by worry and toil but there was strength there too and more resignation than fear.

Reddam pulled up short, but Joffel leapt past him with a wild yell, sword swinging at the man. "Joffel, wait!" Reddam shouted but the mortal's reactions were swift indeed. From under his coat he flung up an energised sword, a blade so fine that Reddam guessed it to be a family relic. The sword darted out swiftly and surely, making Joffel stumble away, clutching his shoulder where rich blood flowed.

The man stepped forward but Reddam stamped into his path, spear held threateningly as he shouted, "Face me!" The officer paused and Reddam was impressed, this man was old enough to boast experience but not decrepit enough to slow him down. A challenge then, one Reddam would willingly accept.

The man saluted with his blade upright before his eyes and said, "I am Viscount Harles Gorgo, heir to a proud lineage and I won't surrender."

"You are nothing but rebel scum and I wouldn't accept it if you did," Reddam hissed.

The man nodded sagely and said, "For Maraha then."

"Ave Imperator," Redddam declared.

The man adopted an ox stance, blade held high, with the point down. A classic stance of speed and power but Reddam knew he had reach and strength on his side. He feinted forward with the point of his spear but the officer swiped laterally and knocked the weapon away. A lightning thrust came at the Sergeant but he jumped back and fended the blow off, keeping this Gorgo back with his circling point.

Reddam saw the man was skilled and experienced but he had the problem of reach to overcome. It was strange how swords had become ingrained in the human psyche, everybody was obsessed with the gaudy things, yet in Reddam's opinion spears bested swords nine times out of ten. He began to sidestep, circling the point of his spear before the officer's eyes. Gorgo warily took a step to right but then unexpectedly threw himself forward, trying to get within the arc of the shaft. If he did so he would be safe from the point but Reddam ducked as Gorgo's blade spun over his head and struck down with the butt to crack against a shin. A clash of metal revealed hidden greaves under the trousers but the blow had force enough to send Gorgo backwards anyway.

Reddam pursued with a jab to the groin but Gorgo got his sword down in time to block. Yet too late the rebel realised it was a feint, for Reddam's spear suddenly jerked upwards. He thrust one-handed, reaching over the length of the sword to plunge the point into the officer's neck. Gorgo froze, his mouth wide open in disbelief and then he slumped as life fled from him. Reddam drew back his spear and let the body slump, then he bowed his head in respect for a brave man. Unfortunately Joffel didn't share his respect, he spat on the body saying, "Wretched mongrel cut me."

"Stop that," Reddam ordered, "Show some respect."

"Respect?" Joffel started, "For a filthy heretic?"

"His Heresy warranted his execution," Reddam stated firmly "But nevertheless he fought well and found a fine death."

Joffel's eyes glazed over as he lost interest and he said, "That's a nice sword."

But Reddam overrode him, "If you couldn't kill him yourself then you have no claim for Victor's Rights. Now you lot, take this place apart."

Swiftly the others piled in, breaking the cogitators with heavy blows and slitting the throats of servitors. It was but the work of a minute to render the control tower useless and reduce it to ruins. Reddam was pleased to see the objective completed, but then their vox-beads crackled and he heard a voice calling, "Sergeant come in this is Larus, come in."

Alarm rose in Reddam at the unexpected call and he responded, "This is Reddam, what's going on?"

Larus responded, "Enemy reinforcements have arrived, we are under attack. The situation is unstable."

"This is no time for understatement," Glord suddenly roared over the vox, "Sergeant, the accursed grox-dung has hit the Frakking exhaust fan!"

Reddam peered out a window and he saw contrail of heavy bolter rounds mixed with the unmistakable flashes of pulse rifle fire. More foes were surrounding the tower on all sides and he gasped as he realised that their hunters had finally caught up with them. In alarm he roared, "Don't just stand there, the enemy has found us. We need to get down there now!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 11**

"Faster," Arbet desperately urged, "We have to go faster!"

"We're going as fast as we can," the driver snapped back with irritation.

Arbet clamped his jaw shut and fell back on his seat. The Devilfish was buzzing loudly as its anti-gravs and thrusters propelled it across the ground, hurtling at speeds no tracked vehicle could dream of matching. Despite the frantic pace the ride was effortlessly smooth, the skimmer untroubled by the rise and fall of the ground. In other circumstances it would have been enjoyable but Arbet couldn't stop fidgeting.

Mere minutes earlier a frantic distress call had come in from a local airbase, it was under attack and needed help. Arbet had been horrified when he realised that the base was well behind the rebel's line of advance. For days they had been hunting the elusive Astartes, only for the Space Marines to double-back and strike at their air support. Arbet had instantly realised that most of the rebel army was too slow to intervene; only his platoon with their skimmer transports could hope to reach the base in time.

The Lieutenant sank back fought the urge to fidget, it wouldn't do for the men to see him looking nervous. Unfortunately they seemed to be winding themselves up without him. Harvee was kneading the barrel of his pulse rifle and muttered, "Are we really going to do this? Face down Space Marines?"

Jonas had gone very pale and he whispered, "This is insane, I don't want to die."

The men looked unnerved at his pronouncement, the reality finally settling in that they were going to confront the legendary Angels of the Emperor. But Arbet stamped down hard on the worries barking, "Stop that talk! We've driven the Imperium out of our cities and sent them running. We're winning this war and we can win this fight too!"

"But…" Ganneth chimed in.

Thankfully Egar spoke up then, slapping his Pulse rifle and saying, "These beauties will even the odds. Nobody takes a hit from one of these and walks away from it!"

Faint smiles arose as the men gripped their weapons, they'd all practised with the alien guns and been astonished by their power. A few men had even voiced the opinion that gifts like this made joining the Gue'vessa worth it. That maybe the Tau weren't so bad after all.

Suddenly the Devilfish coasted to a halt, surprising Arbet, he had no idea they would cover the distance so rapidly. He urged the squad out of the doors and stepped into a world of devastation and confusion. TheLieutenant saw flames and destruction, everywhere the airbase having been reduced to ruins. Bodies laying scattered about, torn apart by the unmistakeable detonations of bolter rounds. Nothing was left undamaged, everything had been smashed.

The Browncoat's platoon was spilling out of their transports, some fifty or so men, all alert and scanning for a threat. Arbet took reassurance in their weight of numbers, not to mention the five Devilfish with their burst cannons and the three Piranhas. He briskly sent the squads out to search the base, well aware that the perpetrators could still be lurking anywhere.

Egar paused to duck and touch a body and announced, "Still warm, he died mere minutes ago."

"Keep alert," Arbet ordered, gripping his Pulse pistol with both hands.

He led his own squad forward, trying to find anything that was left intact. Beside him Ganneth hissed, "Look at that, they got the planes too."

Arbet saw that he was right, the precious planes had been destroyed. Lightnings, Thunderbolts and Marauders were precious machines to the Browncoats, Maraha was a designated Agri-world and its ability to manufacture aircraft did not extend beyond a handful of squadrons. But the Tau machines were a terrible loss, incapable of being replaced by any manufactory on the planet. Arbet put it from his mind and pressed on, he'd already seen too much loss to be stunned by such sights. He was just about to reach a burning hanger when there was a flurry of Pulse rifle fire and he heard cries of "Contact!"

The Lieutenant spun about and saw bright flashes of light coming from the base of the control tower, followed by the unmistakable thudding of a Heavy Bolter. "Close in!" Arbet roared, "All squads form up on the tower!" Barely had the words left his mouth when a fast-moving machine shot into sight. It was a large bike that moved with surprising speed for such a doughty machine. Attached to it was a sidecar, within which sat a gunner, who was twisting a Heavy Bolter back and forth, laying down suppressing fire in short bursts.

The machine flashed past his sight and ducked behind a line of broken dormitories, but in that moment he saw the crew and they were not what he was expecting. Of course he had seen images of Space Marines; every templum was filled with statues and murals of them in all their glory. But these warriors bore not the Ceramite armour and oversized pauldrons of lore, instead they wore some form of carapace plate. Perhaps it was lighter gear for fast attack units, Arbet thought, but even without it they were deadly nonetheless.

"Form up!" Arbet roared, "Squads, ready your aim, Devilfish sweep behind the buildings and flush them back to us!" Despite their shock the platoon responded, forming up long lines and presenting their guns. The transports cruised behind the buildings, trapping the bike between the hammer of burst cannons and the anvil of the Pulse rifles. Arbet nervously scanned the burning buildings, wondering which avenue the target would emerge from. There were a dozen possibilities and every one presented a unique chance to kill this foe or be killed by it. It was a sound strategy, yet the Space Marines were not bound by such conventional thinking.

Suddenly one of the dormitories exploded outwards, its prefab plasterboard walls shattering as the bike smashed right through them at top speed. The Astartes hadn't been stupid enough to drive between the buildings, instead they had ridden right through one. The rebel squads were a fraction of a second too slow to bring their long rifles to bear and the bike fired first, sending out a spray of rounds that strafed their lines and obliterated two men from the other squads.

Arbet flashed his pistol up and let off a spray of fire, the immense recoil dissipated by strange compensator devices built into the barrel. Achingly bright micro-blasts of plasma shot forth, setting the air itself alight as he tried to hit the speeding bike. Yet the driver jinked the heavy machine about like it weighed nothing at all and the rounds pranged off its cowling without doing any lasting damage. Then the bike roared past, leaving the bewildered squads in its wake and Arbet heard the gunner hollering, "You missed us!"

The squads wheeled about, trying to draw a bead but before they could line up the Devilfish hurtled by, burst cannons letting off streams of fire. Deadly flashes chewed up the Ferrocrete road, chasing the jinking bike as it fled at break-neck speed. The Devilfish pursued, barrelling past the milling squads, tracking the retreating bike as the gunner fired backwards roaring, "Come and get us Heretic filth!"

"Go after them!" Arbet yelled and the squads rallied, but too late he realised the bike was merely a distraction, deliberately trying to lure them away. From the base of the control tower four more warriors emerged, running on foot straight into the rear of the milling squads. Arbet gasped to see them emerge, falling upon the rebels with a variety of weapons.

At the forefront charged a grizzled warrior with a long spear, he swung it wildly, sending a man falling with blood arcing high from his slashed chest. Behind him came another pair of warrior's bearing swords and hammers, they piled into the mob, knocking men down left and right. The surprise attack was like a bomb going off, shattering the Brownshirt's lines. The fighting went from a long-range shooting match to a close quarters brawl in a heartbeat and the rebel's long rifles were useless.

Arbet saw the Astartes knocking men down and breaking bones, yet few actually died. The Astartes were merely rebuffing the men, seeking to knock them aside rather than killing them outright. Suddenly it struck Arbet that the Space Marines hadn't planned this assault, they were as surprised as the Brownshirts were. The Astartes weren't looking for a fight, not with the odds so heavily stacked against them. Instead they were headed somewhere, the rebels were merely in the way. The one with the spear broke through the mob of men and ran off, the others trailing behind but Arbet saw one lagging behind. A lone warrior was skirting the fray, bearing a hand-held grenade launcher and an enclosed helm.

Arbet raised his pistol and ran at the warrior, crying his defiance aloud. The Astartes saw him coming and turned to meet him but Arbet fired wildly and a pulsing plasma shot struck the helmet, sundering the side of it. Arbet was caught up in the rush of adrenaline and as the Astartes staggered he threw himself at the giant, roaring angrily, "Aaargh!" They clashed bodily into each other and it felt like hitting a brick wall, the heft and mass of the Transhuman beyond anything Arbet had expected. Such an impact would surely have made no impression except that the Space Marine was already struggling with his shattered helmet and so was off balance.

Arbet managed to stagger the Space Marine and make him fall back a pace. The Lieutenant tried to get his pistol in to finish the warrior with a point-blank shot. Unfortunately the Astartes, while disabled, wasn't dead yet and his hand shot out, knocking the pistol sideways just as it discharged. The blast seared across their vision and the repercussions shook them to their bones… and shook loose the disintegrating helmet. For the first time Arbet saw his opponent's face and the sight made him freeze in horror.

The Astartes' face was nightmarishly inhuman for his skin was covered in scales. For a heartbeat the Lieutenant thought it to be some tattoo or adornment, but then he saw the scales shifting as the warrior breathed and he understood this was his actual skin. It was not like some scabby disease, but rather perfectly formed scales of iridescent colours, gleaming like a snake's skin and moving perfectly over each other as the muscles twitched. His eyes were worse, red and with a vertical slit where a pupil should be. Arbet had heard countless tales of the Astartes but never had he heard of such an abomination, the being before him was more alien to decent folk than a Tau. Arbet gasped in horror as his voice decried, "Mutant!"

The deformed warrior snarled in anger and his hand shot out, knocking Arbet to the ground. The Lieutenant frantically scrambled for his Pulse pistol but the warrior did not intend to finish him off. Instead the mutant turned and ran into the dirty smoke, disappearing after his comrades. Arbet staggered to his feet but before he could give chase there was a roar of engines and squadron of bikes shot away, racing into the distance, chasing after the one with the sidecar and leaving confusion in their wake.

Arbet gasped for air as his heart thundered from the rush of the fight. He tried to understand what he had just beheld, the impossible sight of the deformed mutant he had uncovered. The Lieutenant couldn't square reality with what he had been told of Astartes. Everything he thought he knew of them asserted that they would annihilate such freaks on sight.

He heard boots closing and turned to see Egar racing up crying, "They got away!"

Arbet realised he had been the only one to behold the horror and instantly decided to keep stumm. Instead he deflected by asking, "Any casualties?"

Egar swallowed and stated, "Four dead, including Harvee. but a lost of injuries They beat us worse than my old grandmother did."

"No, they didn't beat us," Arbet rebuked him, "They ran from us."

"But…" Egar stated.

"They ran from us," Arbet declared, "They took us by surprise but we still had numbers and firepower on our side. They knew that if they stayed to fight we would have won."

"So what do we do?" Egar queried doubtfully.

Arbet drew in a breath and said, "Recall the Devilfish but keep the Piranhas in pursuit, we will give chase and run them to ground. They can't run and they can't hide anymore. No matter what it takes we will catch up and then obliterate those unclean monsters from the good face of Maraha."


	12. Chapter 12

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 12**

Shadows raced over the rolling hills, strange silhouettes with sweeping curves and smooth bulges. These were cast by Devilfish and Piranhas, sweeping back and forth over the moors as they sought their prey. The last few hours had seen them pursuing the Amber Vipers into the wilderness, hot on their trail and eager to catch up. For a time it had seemed that they were closing the gap but then the trail had disappeared, vanishing into nothing. The rebels hadn't been discouraged though; their prey had gone to ground but must be nearby. So they swept the region meticulously, sniffing out their quarry.

Sergeant Reddam lowered his magnoculars and grimaced in frustration. These rebels were good, their search pattern left nothing to chance, it was slow but there was no escaping from them. He was boxed in with no chance to slip away unnoticed. Reddam lowered his glasses and pulled the camo-shroud down to close the minuscule gap he had been peering through. Then he dropped back into cover.

He landed on his feet and surveyed the tiny gully his squad was hiding in. This was another of the supply caches, left for Secundus Cohort, barely more than a sharp cleft in the ground but covered over in such a way that a cursory inspection would make it look like nothing but a shallow dip. The camo-netting hung barely above his head, making it seemed cramped and confined yet he knew it would buy them a moment's respite, but only a moment.

Before him the squad were stocking up, loading their bikes with supplies and refuelling. They were tense but determined, they knew they were in serious trouble but they were resolute and convinced of their ultimate victory. Reddam wished he shared that confidence, he knew what they were up against and he didn't like their odds. In one corner Kazao was quietly loading Promethium cans, his helmet was absent but he had wrapped his head in swaddling bandages. It was a feeble attempt to hide his face and Reddam knew it was too late, the squad had already witnessed his affliction. The implications of that would have to be dealt with but first they had to escape this trap.

Glord was reloading his Heavy Bolter but he looked up at the Sergeant and asked, "Have we lost them?"

"No," Reddam sighed, "They are still out there."

Tebes flexed his hands on his mining hammer and growled, "We should kill them all."

"Would that we could," Reddam countered, "They have too much firepower, we must withdraw."

"Retreat!" Glord spat like it was a curse word, "We are Astartes, we do not retreat from mortals they retreat before us!"

Larus disputed that, "The enemy is equipped with pulse rifles and burst cannons, scout-armour is no match. We scattered them with surprise but in a direct confrontation they will slaughter us. A tactical withdrawal is the only option."

"Fang-rot," Glord declared, "We should take the offensive, a little blood is worth it!"

Reddam fixed him with a glare and declared, "You forget yourself, we are not the Imperial Fists, to trade blows with a foe until they fall over. We are the Amber Vipers; we have no use for battles of attrition nor death or glory charges. We fight with cunning and guile; striking when and where we choose and when the enemy looks for us they find nothing but rumours and ghosts."

From the corner Kazao spoke up, "The Sergeant's right, we need to withdraw. At the very least we can draw off more enemies and continue the mission to confuse and distract the rebels."

There was a sudden rasping noise and Joffel stood up, gaunt sword in hand as he snarled, "Are you talking to us, freak?"

There was a sudden still silence and everybody froze as Kazao lowered his head in shame. Yet Reddam's eyes narrow and he growled, "Do you have a problem boy?"

"Did you think we didn't see?" Joffel sneered, "He's a vile mutant!"

Reddam crossed his arms and uttered, "He's as human as you were, it's not his fault the gene-seed deformed."

Tebes started in shock and said, "You knew about him?!"

"How could I not?" Reddam stated, "I was briefed on you all before we even met."

Larus shook his head and said, "Why didn't you tell us?"

Reddam sighed, "We usually keep it to ourselves until you have had time to form a Brotherhood. The Chapter Master intended to tell you, once you'd bonded properly."

Glord said with a frown, "Wait, you mean this has happened before, that there are others… like him?"

Reddam nodded as he affirmed, "Its rare but it happens. I know of five others who survived the implantation and went on to serve… briefly."

Joffel sneered, "Secrets and lies, is this what we are?"

"It is to do with the Time of Exodus," Reddam stated.

For once that didn't work, for Joffel angrily spat, "Don't give me that, I am not like these others. My family weren't killed before my eyes; they cowered before the heretics who destroyed my world. I left them behind and took up a blade; I fought on as they grovelled for their lives. So don't think I will be fobbed off with platitudes."

Reddam saw his defiance and the eager eyes of the others and then he rubbed his jaw in deliberation. There was so much he couldn't tell these youths, so much that was buried for a reason but they deserved to know something of the truth. Hesitantly Reddam explained, "During the Time of Exodus the Chapter was reduced to a handful of Brothers and only one ship, all alone in the dark. We were cut off from everything, with nowhere to turn and no aid to be found. Darkness surrounded us and enemies were on every side. Many called for us to end our saga with one last blaze of glory, to die in some noble quest. But Coluber held us firm, he told us that we had to keep the flame alive and he gave us the promise that we could rebuild. He kept to his word; he led us to a secret cache of gene-tech and forged an alliance with another Chapter to give us the tools to rebuild. The first-generation Amber Vipers were born of that alliance."

The youths were silent as they drank this in, being second-generation they had heard nothing of this. Yet Tebes asked, "What went wrong?"

Reddam sighed, "The gene-tech was advanced and had a large stockpile of progenoids, but it wasn't perfect. The recruits were all fine healthy specimens, but when we began implantation some of them began to mutate. Don't look so shocked, it happens to all Chapters, but most of them euthanize any aberrations without comment."

"Why didn't we do the same?" Larus inquired.

"You have no notion of how desperate we were," Reddam confessed, "We needed every hand that could hold a Bolter and we couldn't afford to discard a single warrior. It was determined that the afflicted could still serve, so the implantation continued, most of them died anyway, but a few survived long enough to fight for the Chapter with honour. None of the first-generation afflicted now live, but their deaths were noble and many other Brothers owe their lives to them."

Tebes looked queasy as he said, "You mean… this could have happened to any of us? You knew there was a chance we could be afflicted and you implanted us anyway?"

"Yes," Reddam answered without hesitation.

At that point Kazao stepped forward and said, "I never wanted to deceive any of you, but I wanted to show you my worth before you judged me."

Glord looked at him and asked, "Is it only your face or is the rest of you…"

Kazao removed a glove, revealing a scaled hand and said, "Every inch of me is afflicted. You can't imagine the horror of it when the mutation began, I thought it was the end for me. But Chapter Master Coluber himself came unto me and said I could yet fight for the Amber Vipers, that I could find a noble death in battle. I have no legacy, it is forbidden to harvest my gene-seed, to fight for the Emperor and the chance at a worthy death is all I will ever have."

Suddenly Joffel stamped forward, raising his sword and hissing, "No, I won't stand for it. I won't fight alongside a mutant!"

Kazao started in shock but Reddam stepped between them and growled, "Yes you will, because he is your Brother and because I order it to be so."

Joffel sneered, "You overstep your authority, I won't do it."

Reddam saw this was a pivotal moment; the youths were hypno-indoctrinated to obey orders but also to abhor any deviation from the pure human norm. The conflicting imperatives cancelled each other out, meaning at this moment anything could happen. This was more than a matter of doctrine; it was the test of his authority, his worthiness to lead. Reddam knew in other Chapters an order of Chaplains existed to steer the Brothers through such moral quandaries, but the Amber Vipers had their own way of resolving such ethical dilemmas.

One second Reddam was standing stock still and the next his fist was flying into Joffel's face, sending him staggering backwards. The others gasped as the youth stumbled back a few paces but he recovered swiftly and hissed in anger as he brandished his sword. Yet Reddam already had his spear in hand, pointing the blade at the defiant warrior.

The pair froze as they measured each other up, gauging strengths and weaknesses. Then Reddam took his spear in one hand and slowly held it out to his side before opening his grip and dropped the weapon to the ground with a thud. Joffel frowned in suspicion but then he charged forward, swinging his sword in a diagonal sweep as he snarled a cry of defiance.

Reddam did not pull back but jumped forward, lifting his left arm to block. The razor sharp blade kissed his forearm, slicing off a chunk of flesh but it glanced off the ceramic-laced bones beneath. Reddam mastered his pain as he slammed his other fist into Joffel's side, lifting the youth's boots off the floor with sheer brute strength.

Joffel staggered under the blow and Reddam chopped his hand onto the wrist holding the sword, making the blade fall from numb fingers. Joffel was reeling but Reddam grabbed the the youth's skull and then heaved it downwards, lifting his knee simultaneously. Joffel's head rammed into the knee with a muffled crack, leaving him dazed. The others stood flabbergasted but Reddam was relentless and continued punching the boy into oblivion. Reddam had fought and bested horrors beyond imagination, whereas Joffel had no concept of the ferocious will and unbreakable zeal that drove a veteran Astartes on.

A boot to the knee made Joffel collapse to the ground and Reddam snatched up the gaunt sword in his bloodied hand, then laid it over the boy's throat. The youth froze on his back as Reddam loomed over him snarling, "You have defied me and so broken faith with this squad. The Amber Vipers have no Chaplains to offer you penance, no rites of absolution or contrition. You must swear to forevermore obey my commands, to the letter, or you shall die. Choose."

Joffel's eyes glanced at the sword laid over his neck then he uttered, "I… I swear it."

Reddam glared at him but didn't let him up yet, instead proclaiming, "Know this, our Chapter has nothing. There is no Fortress-Monastery to call home, no worlds labouring to support us. We have no mighty Companies to come to our rescue. The one thing, the only thing, we can count on are the bonds that bind us. That is the essence of the Amber Vipers: we march for the Emperor but we fight and die for each other. Kazao is your Brother, we are all your Brothers and you should be proud to die for us, for we would surely die for you. This is who we are: cold-hearted, fast with our blades… and unbreakable in our loyalty to each other."

Joffel was silent but his eyes showed his understanding. Reddam tossed him his sword and stepped back saying, "What are you lot looking at? Tend to your bikes, we still have to fight our way out this and our only chance to survive is if we work together!" With that the squad returned to their machines, leaving Reddam to wonder if his lesson would be heeded or if he was merely wasting his breath.


	13. Chapter 13

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 13**

Green light filled the space under the camo-shroud, the auspex's tiny screen declaring the enemy was near. Reddam stared intently at the reading, watching the icons move to and fro. Each blip represented an enemy vehicle, moving in a pattern that described a net of awareness, one falling upon the squad. Reddam wished there was a gap in their lines but it was not to be, the Rebels were closing their trap and he knew within minutes they would uncover the Amber Viper's hiding place.

By the shrouded entrance Larus knelt by a tracked device, one of the oddest things left in the supply cache. It was a peculiar sight, about the size of a mastiff, covered in auspex vanes and sample drills. Upon its front was a human skull, from which a glowing pict-lens protruded and it was piled over with sacks. It thrummed with energy and as if eager to be off, but its simple Machine Spirit could not move until Larus pressed the rune to awaken it.

In the dark confines of the cache the squad were waiting upon their bikes, engines cold lest noise give them away. Glord was checking over his Heavy Bolter but still muttered, "What I want to know is, where did we get a C.A.T.?"

Kazao's head was covered in bandages, to disguise his affliction but his voice was clear as he answered, "Recall that Munitorum convoy the Chapter found adrift in space?"

"Oh yes," Glord said, "I was only a snakelet-scout but I recall our training instructor saying we looted enough replacement parts to keep our ships running for another five years. I heard they even found a Navigator still alive in his sanctum and pressed him into the service of the Chapter."

"I dread to think what his House will say when they hear about that," Joffel muttered, still resentful of his beating.

"That wasn't all," Kazao stated ignoring the sullen tone, "We took all the supplies too, munitions, fuel and weapons. I even hear they found something special in the most secure hold, something the older Brothers wouldn't even let the rest of us see."

Suddenly Reddam snapped, "That's enough, focus on the matter at hand. We have only one shot at this."

Silence fell as Reddam stared at his auspex, seeing the icons moving closer and closer. The squad was eager yet they were outmatched by this foe and could not run. Their only chance was to catch the enemy unawares and break them in the first moments, but he had to time this just right or they would all die.

Reddam's eyes narrowed as a pair of icons came together right outside their cover and he raised his hand, signalling Larus to prepare. Then the icons were at their closest point and his hand fell. Larus hit the awakening rune and the C.A.T. sprang to life, its tracks roaring into motion, spinning at maximum acceleration. The device rocketed away, tearing through the camo-shroud and sprinting into the world beyond. Such devices were used by the Tech-Priests to probe smashed derelicts and narrow confines where Servitors could not go. They were simple devices but robust and straightforward enough to be hard to break. They were uncomplicated, expendable and surprisingly fast. Tracks spinning the C.A.T. raced over the ground spraying up a trail of dust and scree in its wake.

Reddam watched as the enemy turned in his auspex, tracking the small machine. The sudden and unexpected activity drew their attention, as he knew it must but it would be mere moments until they realised that it was only a decoy. The urge to act was nearly overwhelming but Reddam held back, his self-control as strong as plasteel. One, two, three seconds he waited and then the moment was right and he hit the rune of his vox.

Instantly the C.A.T. exploded, the demolition charges they had laid over the device blowing up in a brilliant explosion. The blast blew outwards in all directions, spreading flames and dirty smoke widely about the area. The explosion occurred in the open air and did no physical damage to the enemy, but seeing the ball of fire erupt before them stunned the rebels and made spots appear in their eyes.

"Start your engines!" Reddam roared as Larus threw himself into his own saddle. With a loud growl Promethium engines burst into life, revving angrily at the rude awakening. Reddam's own bike coughed loudly and for a heart-stopping moment he thought the Machine Spirit was offended by his handling, but then the engine turned over and finally awoke, eager to be off. Reddam twisted the throttle wide open and shot out of cover, the camo-shroud flapping wildly in his wake. He tore into the weak sunlight and saw the scene laid out before him, two of the transport craft, designated Devilfish, some way off facing a crater of burnt ground and smoking debris. They were out of position and facing the wrong way, but it wasn't enough to let the squad get away, not yet.

Reddam yanked his handlebars right at the hovering craft and tore across the landscape towards the foe. The distance shrank incredibly fast but the drivers were no fools, the Devilfish rotated smoothly about, bringing their own weapons to bear. Then from each two disc-shaped objects detached, hovering higher with long-gun barrels hanging from their forms. Reddam recognised the Xeno machines, unsanctified technology built with no reverence for the Machine Spirits, they were loathsome to his eyes and he roared, "Take them out!" A spray of bolter rounds filled the air and blew one drone to bits, but the other three bobbed and weaved, returning fire with sprays of pulse fire. Reddam saw the threat they represented but it was the Devilfish that consumed his attention and he yelled, "Kazao take point!"

Kazao was already on it, veering towards the leftmost transport. The unmistakable sight of the burst cannon swung towards him but he was faster, raising his Grenade Launcher and letting fly a Krak round. Built into his bike and fitted with blessed stabilisers the weapon was sure and true, despite the jostling from riding over the hard ground. The grenade soared over the Devilfish's low prow and elegantly curved down to be sucked into one of the thruster modules on its flank. A moment later the grenade detonated and the Devilfish lurched in mid-air, its driver desperately trying to compensate for the loss of propulsion: he failed.

The Devilfish slammed into the hard ground nose first, throwing up a spray of pebbles and mud and burying the deadly burst cannon. The hatches blew as rebels poured out of the stricken machine, but it was the other transport that consumed Reddam's attention. The second craft was advancing, its nose lighting up with torrents of firepower.

Reddam desperately jinked back and forth as the torrent chased him and he felt his bike shudder as rounds hammered into its cowling. Then a shot hit his shoulder and punched right through, penetrating the light scout armour like it was nothing. Reddam snarled as a line of fire seared through his shoulder and blood began to run down his arm. The pain was excruciating, a red-hot poker driven into his flesh, yet he could still feel his fingers and move his arm. Reddam was still functional and so could fight, to an Astartes that was all that mattered; pain was nothing more than weakness leaving the body.

Reddam pushed the agony into a part of his mind where it could not interfere and focussed upon the enemy. In the single second since he had been hit the distance had shrunk to nothing and he was about to slam into the transport. Reddam swerved to the side and with his bloodied arm pulled out his spear. He did not trust his wounded arm so jammed the spear's butt against the wide exhaust of his engine. With his good arm he steered towards the Devilfish, coming at it from the side and as he did so his spear clipped the barrels of the burst cannon.

The energised weapon met the hardened barrels of the Xeno weapon and cut through them like parchment, sheering the gun in half. Reddam raced away, leaving the Devilfish drifting impotently, able to pursue but unable to do anything to stop the Astartes. The crew seemed enraged by this, for the transport coasted to a stop and its doors opened to let the rebels inside disembark furiously shouting and letting off random shots.

Reddam stowed his spear and looked about, seeing his squad battling on. Tebes was circling the downed Devilfish, sniping at the milling raiders then breaking off while Kazao shot another Krak round at the impotent transport, making it shudder under the blow. Joffel had isolated a single rebel and was riding down upon him, his gaunt sword slicing the man's spine with a slick sweep while Larus and Glord were racing to and fro, blasting the drones apart with tight bursts of fire.

Reddam saw their opportunity and cried, "We've punched a hole in their lines, now follow me and break out!" He matched deeds to words, accelerating away at high speed. Behind him he sensed his squadmates closing in from behind, racing to keep up. Joffel drew level with him and called over the roaring of the engines, "Aren't we going to finish them off?"

Reddam noted that it was a question, not a demand, the boy seemed to take his vow seriously at least. Reddam deigned to yell back, "Not our objective, we only need to escape."

Joffel sank back in his saddle and seemed mollified, if not happy. It was true, the pair of Devilfish were helpless to intervene and a glance at the auspex told Reddam the other three were too far away to intervene. He grinned to himself as the bikes raced for the horizon; they had successfully evaded the rebel's trap and given them a bloody nose in the process. The rebels would certainly pursue but the squad had a head start and enough fuel to reach the capital without having to stop again. Their efforts in this part of the war were over, but by his estimation it was a successful conclusion to their mission.

His self-congratulations were proved premature as he heard Tebes shout, "Incoming!"

Reddam started in shock as he saw a trio of skimmers closing rapidly. It was the rebel's outriders; the two-man skimmers designated 'Piranhas'. Reddam had carefully planned his escape route to avoid the circling outriders but here they were, coming in at a velocity he found hard to believe. It seemed he had underestimated their speed by a significant margin and the threat they represented.

"Break! Break! Break!" Reddam yelled as he desperately jerked his handlebars to the side. His shoulder screamed in protest but he ignored the pain as burst rounds fell all around them, chewing up the ground around the scattering bikes. Reddam snarled as his headlight was shattered by a round, shards of glass flying into his face to leave deep cuts. The rest of the squad were more fortunate, avoiding the worst of the fire as the Piranha's dashed past and swung out wide for another pass.

Reddam saw their astonishing speed and realised that this time the Astartes were the ones who were sitting ducks. He knew they could not evade this time, so must change tactics. He blinked glass shards out of his eyes and swerved towards the turning Piranhas, jamming his thumb on the firing rune.

His bike's front lit up with twin contrails of rounds, joining those of the rest of the squad as they pinned the Piranhas in a web of fire. The skimmer pilots held true though and raced back, burst cannons blazing. The air lit up with crossing streams of carnage as the two forces hurtled at each other, passing in the space of heartbeat as torrents of firepower flew back and forth. The Piranhas careened past and Reddam saw one of them wobbling badly, trailing smoke from a coughing engine. He grinned in triumph as he saw it break off and disengage, limping away from the fight. Yet his joy was short lived as he heard Kazao shout in alarm, "Tebes!"

He twisted back the other way and saw Tebes falling behind, his bike wobbling as he struggled to control it one-handed. The other hand was clamped firmly to his waist where blood was gushing freely, his belly having been torn open by a stray round. Reddam's stomach fell as he realised Tebes was badly wounded while the enemy was closing for another pass, death was coming for them and it seemed there was no escaping it this time.


	14. Chapter 14

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 14**

"Subitis! Subitis! Subitis!" Reddam frantically yelled into his vox, "Chapter command, come in, can anyone hear me?! This is Sergeant Reddam, we are under attack and require immediate assistance!"

The howling wind tore the words from his mouth and scattered them into the breeze. He could feel the air tearing at his eyes, sheer speed turning the limp gusts into a gale. Reddam hurtled over the moors as his squad fled, the ground was hard beneath their treads and the ride was so rough that it felt like it would break bones but there were no other options, it was flee or die.

Behind the squad came their hunters, the rebel craft blazing across the terrain as beige blurs. The Heretics had rallied their forces and given pursuit, determined to catch up and annihilate the Amber Vipers once and for all. Three Devilfish were closing rapidly, while the two remaining Piranhas kept coming back and over and over, strafing the Astartes with incredible speed. Normally Reddam would have favoured his squad in any race but the ground beneath them rose and fell randomly, small hillocks slowing their pace while crevices and dells had to be traversed. The rebels had no such concerns, their skimmer craft ignoring any obstruction, covering the terrain with effortless contempt.

Yet what was really slowing the squad down was Tebes, the wounded Brother who was lagging behind. His belly was a mass of Larraman cells, the transhuman clotting more effective than swathes of bandages. It was a testament to Astartes biology that he was still able to ride his bike, whereas a mortal would be crippled by pain. Yet Tebes could not completely ignore his wound for it was slowing his reactions and making him drift off course. He tried to keep up but the fact was that Tebes was dropping behind. To cover him the squad was running interference, crossing paths at random and firing off bursts of bolter fire to keep away the rebel outriders. They had managed to keep their group whole, but the tradeoff was their speed. The Devilfish were catching up and when they closed the net the warriors of Secundus Cohort would be annihilated.

Reddam saw a Piranha drifting nearer and turned his handlebars slightly, letting off a spray of bolter fire. The skimmer fell back but only a little and Reddam saw that his manoeuvre had cost him yet another morsel of speed. Reddam hurriedly came back into line and raced forward, even as he returned to the vox and cried, "Chapter Command, this is Sergeant Reddam. We are under attack in grid coordinates 342-457-010, we require immediate support!"

Besides him Joffel yelled over the roaring engines, "They can't hear us!"

Reddam wanted to refute him but could not; he had been calling out continuously to the Amber Viper's orbiting ships but had heard nothing in return. Perhaps the vessels were not in the right place or perhaps the rebels were jamming him, but either way it seemed that help was not coming. Reddam knew in his hearts that without aid his squad could not win this fight but he would be damned before he admitted such a thing.

Suddenly he saw the other Piranha closing, sweeping in laterally, its burst cannon already firing. He swerved hard to the right but saw the ground erupting around Tebes, the rebels going after the wounded Brother. Reddam reacted instinctively, throwing himself sideways and bringing his bike towards the skimmer. He had a moment where he could have fired his bolter but knew it would be too little. Instead he slammed his mass into the flank of the skimmer, feeling the terrific impact almost knock him off his machine.

He wobbled in his saddle for a heart-stopping instant but regained his balance in time to see the Piranha fly away. Its lack of traction made it far harder for the craft to recover its line of attack and its opportunity was spoiled. For a moment Reddam was elated but the manoeuvre had cost him too much speed and the nearest Devilfish had caught up. Reddam saw a bright flash and then an instant later his bike rang with impacts, the burst cannon chewing up his exhausts. He felt a round skim his shoulders, like a red-hot skewer to the back and knew an inch to the left and it would have blown out his spine. The Devilfish had fired wildly but now the driver had his range and prepared to finish him, yet suddenly Kazao appeared from nowhere, gripping his Krieg grenade launcher in one hand.

A muffled retort announced him firing a Krak Grenade and the Devilfish rocked as an explosion spread over its prow. No damage was done but the driver lost a hair of momentum and fell back, leaving Reddam in pain but alive. The Sergeant pushed it from his mind and concentrated on increasing speed, coaching every last effort from his bike. He knew they had bought another minute but no more, the rebels had them dead to rights.

In the corner of his eye Reddam saw that Tebes yet lived but was struggling along, slumped in his saddle. The youth's steering was erratic and his bike was wobbling badly as fresh blood ran down his legs. He looked like he could barely ride in a straight line, let alone fight. Reddam drifted closer and called out, "Tebes talk to me!"

Tebes stirred at the voice and groaned, "Sorry Sergeant, I think my time has come."

"Don't give me that," Reddam barked, "Astartes never yield!"

"Not my point," Tebes responded, woozily "We're not going to make it. The squad is finished… unless someone holds the rebels up. I'll double-back and draw them away while you break free."

"Are you trying to die a hero?" Reddam shouted.

Tebes lifted a blood-soaked hand, displaying his injuries and groaned, "I'm slowing you down, it's one life against five and I'm expendable."

Reddam wanted to rebuke him, he wanted to say that they would stay together to the end but he knew what had to be done, he had said much the same himself. Amber Vipers fight and die for each other, that was the truth, but it cut both ways. Tebes was willing to die for the squad and for the sake of the unit the Sergeant had to be willing to let him make the sacrifice. It was cold and ruthless, but the Amber Vipers were no stranger to bad choices, today he had to be cold-hearted in deed as well as word.

Reddam saw the rebels were closing once more. He drew in a breath to shout one last exhortation to his young charge but he was cut off as his vox bead suddenly squalled into his ear. Reddam grimaced as roaring static filled his hearing but then it cleared and a new voice came through, a harsh Transhuman tone that declared, "Support... Close…. Come in, can you… me? I repeat, Sergeant Reddam we see you, prepare for air strike: Danger Close!"

Reddam twisted to look upwards, eyes wide open as he scanned the heavens above. His jaw fell wide in surprise as he spied a tiny speck, diving almost vertically for the deck. It was a heavy cruciform shape with a blunt prow and short stubby wings, from which hung rounded stubs of missiles. The intruder was all heft and solid mass, a most brutal and unforgiving machine, built for war and war alone yet to Reddam's eyes it was utterly beautiful. A Thunderhawk gunship.

Elatedly Glord cried, "Viper's Bite!"

Yet Reddam was already shouting, "Faster you fools, faster!"

The squad pushed their machines to the limit, clawing for every morsel of velocity they could squeeze from their machines. Reddam knew they were already pushing to the limit but he still clenched his throttle harder, as if that could compel the machine's spirit through sheer force of will.

Above them the Thunderhawk swelled, swooping down upon the scene like an avenging angel. The rebels at last saw the looming attack and tried to scatter but Viper's Bite was already firing, rippling Mark XIV Hellstrike missiles in-between the retreating squad and their hunters. The missiles slammed down in a long line and massive fireballs blew up, explosions blooming so high that Reddam felt the heat of them scorch his bleeding back. A second later a blast wave threw him forward in his seat, almost hurling him over his own handlebars.

His bike danced beneath him and he fought for control before his wide tyres found their grip and it finally stabilised. He glanced backwards and saw the rebels were scattered and bewildered. Their last minute evasion had spared them from death but their vehicles were strewn everywhere, lacking any traction the skimmers had been sent into mad spins by the blasts and were frantically battling to arrest their own momentum. They spun helplessly, unable to intervene as the squad sped away.

Reddam watched as Viper's Bite pulled out of its dive at the last possible moment. Its nose rose as it fought to level out and it finally came to a horizontal flight, so low that he would have sworn it was brushing the bracken beneath it. The Thunderhawk turned towards them and its assault ramp began to open, a welcome sight for the wounded and harried squad. For an insane moment Reddam thought it wasn't going to stop, that the pilots were reckless enough to try to pick up the squad while still moving but then aero-brakes deployed and braking rockets fired, making the Thunderhawk jerk in mid-air, its momentum arrested to nothing. The gunship practically fell to the ground, its landing claws spraying up showers of pebbles and then the ramp slammed down, open and inviting.

"Get inside!" Reddam roared as he drove right at the waiting ramp. First up the ramp was Tebes, the squad making sure their injured Brother was safe then Joffel, Kazao, Larus and Glord. Reddam was the last in, driving into the tiny space at full speed. He slammed his brakes at the last second but still crashed into the back of the attack bike, bending the back fender as he cried, "We're in: go, go, go!"

The deck heaved beneath him as the Thunderhawk lifted off the ground, its engines whining with increasing power. The ramp began to rise but Reddam turned and saw the rebels closing once more, their momentary confusion passed. The Devilfish bore down, burst cannons firing, but Reddam was pleased to see the scorch marks all over their front cowlings. Then the ramp slammed shut and the Viper's Bite roared into the sky, making them all lurch as the gunship soared away.

For long moments G-forces pressed down, then they diminished and Reddam saw Larus and Glord helping Tebes off his saddle and tending to his wounds. Meanwhile Kazao and Joffel were securing their bikes in the tiny hold, notably keeping away from each other but Reddam was too tired to care about that. Reddam strapped down his own bike with perfunctory movements then checked the rest were similarly secure. The squad were edgy but alert, that was good. Astartes were never discomforted by danger, the stresses of war could not wear them down, unlike mortals they could endure any peril and come out thirsty for more.

After a moment Glord wiped his brow and with a grin declared, "Cut that a bit fine, didn't we?"

Reddam drew in a slow breath and then retorted, "I thought you could use the excitement, you looked bored."

Larus cut into the talk stating, "Tebes will live but his wounds are severe."

At that Joffel interjected," Rebel scum bled us, are we really going to let them go unpunished?"

"Good point," Reddam concurred then tuned his vox and said, "Cockpit, request we give the Heretics a taste of the Battlecannon."

"Negative," came the reply over the vox, "Orders were to return you to base."

"Fang-rot," Reddam swore, "We can finish them!"

The voice responded smoothly, "Not worth the risk, we can't endanger Thunderhawks for acts of vain pride. The rest of Secundus came back two days ago; you're the last unit to report in. Chapter Master Coluber wants to see you immediately."

With that the vox cut off leaving Reddam stumped. However Joffel was elated and said, "Did you hear that? Last unit back and the Chapter Master himself wants us. Surely we will be covered in glory!"

Reddam wasn't so sure, in his experience when commanders asked for warriors by name it was a never a good thing. But he would worry about that later, for now he had to make sure the squad recovered properly. With a sigh he went back to work, leaving whatever was to come as a problem for later.


	15. Chapter 15

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 15**

Mud, wet sodden mud stretching as far as the eyes could see. It was everywhere, clinging to boots and smearing proud colours a dirty brown. The cause of this was a persistent drizzle, one that had been falling for hours and seemed would never stop. It drenched the ground, turning once rich cropland into a sodden quagmire. The mountains were now little more than vague shapes in the dim grey sky, mere outlines with no detail to be discerned. Only the great dam stood out, the white froth of water thundering out of its base testifying as to the weight of water held back by its majestic form.

Any sane man would have been somewhere warm on such a day, but this was not a time for rationality. Around the suburbs of the capital city thousands of Guardsmen laboured, shovelling mud to create a network of trenches. They were caked head to toe in filth but they pressed on, the men of the Imperial Guard were no strangers to misery. Everyone knew the rebel army was closing, that they would be here in mere days and these defences were the only chance of stopping the Heretics. So they laboured to create a perimeter around the city, even as the rain sent wet mud spilling back into their freshly dug pits.

Chapter Master Coluber watched the Guardsmen working, even as the rain ran over his plate and pooled around his feet. His vibrant amber colours were smeared with filthy mud, his greaves caked in the filth but he ignored it. War took priority over all else. Coluber's eyes surveyed the lines snaking around the city and he snarled, "This is going too slowly."

Besides him a mortal voice demurred, "They're going as fast as they can. This damn rain is slowing everything down."

Coluber turned to look at the man, seeing a lean gentleman in the gold braiding of an Imperial Guard General. This mortal was standing beside the Chapter master, watching the army at work but could not have been more different. His face was haggard and tired, with bags under his eyes and his once-clean shaven face had several days worth of stubble. Such a sight was disturbing, Coluber understood the need for commanders to appear tireless and unflappable, the morale of the men demanded it, but this man looked beyond caring anymore. His name was Tiberius Soza, commander of the Imperium's reprisal army and the one who had led it to its defeat.

Coluber turned away from the man and saw his attendants and aides standing nearby but none of them dared to catch the eye of the Amber Viper. Instead he surveyed the lines saying, "These trenches are too straight, any enfilading fire will walk up them with ease. You must incorporate more turns and dug-outs to prevent flanking actions."

"That will add time, something we don't have," Soza retorted, "The rebels are coming and we don't have enough time to prepare."

Coluber snorted at the man's defeatist attitude and proclaimed, "My Chapter is fighting to slow the enemy advance, they won't be here for days."

"Days, weeks, months, it won't matter," Soza stated, "Nothing we can do will stop the rebels now."

Now Coluber's anger waxed strong and he placed one hand on the hilt of Venom as he growled, "Your lack of spirit is troubling, to admit defeat is to blaspheme against the Emperor. Perhaps I should make an example of you."

Surprisingly Soza didn't look concerned, he merely shrugged and uttered, "Go ahead, it will save the Commissariat a bullet. I'm a dead man walking either way."

Coluber was surprised by the casual remark and he realised this man had already accepted his own death, he wore defeat like an old coat. Both of them knew the Imperium had no use for failures and after a defeat of this scale Soza's days were numbered, if the Commissariat didn't execute him the Inquisition certainly would. Coluber knew he could try to find another officer but none of the junior officers were capable of organising the defences; all the competent ones had died in battle. Like it or not they were stuck with Soza. Coluber decided to change tack and more consolingly ventured, "You don't know that, we may yet turn this about."

Soza shook his head saying, "I came to this world with one hundred thousand men, not to mention tanks, planes and artillery. We were crushing the Heretics left, right and centre, victory was within our grasp. Then the rebels turned to the damned aliens for help. Railguns blew our tanks to pieces, missiles tore our planes from the skies and those drone things stalked men through the ruins of cities we had conquered mere weeks earlier. Snipers took out all our Commissars for some reason, they really went out of their way to do that. I have no intention of running, I will fight to the end but you and I both know this will only delay the rebels, they will blow through these trenches and then it will be street fighting until the bitter end. Unless the Navy can bring us some reinforcements soon Maraha will fall."

Coluber knew every word was true but still he declared, "You still have a third of your army left to hold the Capital and we are organising a militia to bolster your numbers."

"Militia," Soza spat with a career soldier's contempt for civilian fighters, "They won't do anything, the rebels outnumber us fifty to one and they have those wretched alien guns."

"The militia will draw the enemy's attention," Coluber stated, "While you take half your real army and position them in the foothills of the mountains."

"Wait, what?" Soza spluttered in surprise, "You want half our fighting men held in reserve?"

Coluber pointed to the indistinct mountains that held the city in their embrace saying, "Position your best forces along the ridgelines, where they can't be seen."

Soza shook his head, flying rainwater everywhere as he said, "The old fix 'em and flank 'em routine. It won't work; our boys will be too high up and the range is too great."

Coluber disagreed, "Trust me."

Soza rubbed his chin and said, "Well… maybe if I position earthshakers upon the dam itself."

"No," Coluber uttered sternly, "I need them here in the city, the rebels will be suspicious if they don't see them."

"But…" Soza protested.

"Do not compound your errors by defying me," Coluber growled, "Obey my orders and trust that I know what I am doing."

Soza lowered his eyes and sighed, "As you will."

"Good," Coluber uttered, "My Primus Cohort is engaging in hit and run attacks to slow the rebel advance and my Secundus Cohort …"

He paused as he realised that Soza wasn't looking at him anymore, but past him. Coluber turned and was surprised to see the ungainly sight of Governor Nugga waddling towards them. The man had left a luxurious ground-cab someway behind and was picking his way over the muddy fields towards them, while a pair of retainers tried to keep a parasol over his head to hold off the rain. It was a ridiculous sight, the indolent fool wore his richest robes and they were already stained with mud. The quagmire sucked at all their feet, making them waddle along and any attempt to keep the rain off was doomed to fail. Still Nugga came on, seemingly determined to reach the officers despite the insult to his dignity, such as it was.

Soza sneered at the sight and muttered under his breath, "Inbred idiot, I should have shot him the second I arrived. Probably would have ended this war in a day."

"Silence," Coluber hissed then raised his voice to say, "Nugga, why do you disturb me?"

The Governor was red-faced from the effort of dragging his fat body through the mud but finally he stood before them and exclaimed, "I bring news, your supplies are moving once more."

Coluber nodded, making a trickle of rain runoff his chin as he said, "That is fortunate, for you that is."

Surprisingly Nugga didn't look intimidated as he remarked, "The defences look sound."

Coluber suppressed the urge to grimace; this moron wouldn't be able to tell the strategic difference between a muddy trench and a Hive City Wall. Coluber noncommittally said, "The construction of the defences proceeds as planned."

Nugga nodded repeatedly saying, "Good, good, but there is a complication."

Coluber had been half-expecting this; the Governor wouldn't come all this way unless he had an ulterior motive. The Chapter Master arched an eyebrow and growled, "Explain quickly."

Nugga rubbed his hands together and said, "I have uncovered a spy in our midst! One of my own court plots against us, he feeds information to the rebels."

Contemptuously Soza hissed, "A Traitor! Who is it?!"

Nugga exclaimed, "Magnate Kardas, he has betrayed us!"

Soza cursed, "Worthless cur, who knows what secrets he's told them, I should have known not to trust any of your hangers-on."

Coluber however was silent, eyeing the Governor. The man's face was flushed and his pulse thready, he was nervous and agitated. Astartes oft had trouble reading mortal expressions, their life experiences were so detached from mortal affairs, but Coluber had spent years watching Governor's weasel and twist their way around deals and he recognised duplicity when he saw it. Coluber leaned in, making the moral quail as he snarled angrily, "You're lying!"

"What?" Nugga spluttered, "I… I… don't know what you mean…"

Coluber hissed accusingly, "Do not think you can deceive me, Space Marines can smell a lie as soon as it is uttered."

That was a gross exaggeration but it had the intended effect, Nugga collapsed inwards sobbing, "I'm sorry, I needed your help and I wasn't sure you would act."

Coluber stare was flinty but he stated, "You want Kardas dead."

Nugga looked forlorn as he explained, "I didn't lie, well I did, but only about the rebels. Kardas is plotting against me, personally, he seeks to supplant me as Governor. He has gathered my political rivals and intends to force a Vote of No Confidence. He has their hearts, soon I will be cast out and he will seize the mantle of Governor."

"Won't do him much good," Soza scoffed, "The rebels will overrun us before he can do anything with it."

Coluber ignored that and articulated, "This Kardas, he is a threat to your rule?"

"Yes," Nugga sighed.

"You want him assassinated?" Coluber asked.

Nugga looked up and then hesitantly answered, "Yes…"

"Then consider him dead," Coluber stated flatly.

"What… I… why… what?" Nugga spluttered in shock.

Coluber looked down at the man and explained, "I told you we had a pact. I swore to guarantee your reign over this world and I shall make certain it is so. Tell me where this Kardas hides and he shall die."

"Really?" Nugga exclaimed, "That easily?"

Coluber allowed a rare grin to creep onto his lips then stated, "Battle-Captain Ferrac will wail in my ear about honour and dignity but I am not so hidebound. A threat to our accord has arisen and shall be dealt with."

Nugga looked up with a cunning glint in his eye and said. "Kardas is relocating to his family estates down the river, well away from the capital. If you move fast you can catch his convoy before he gets there."

"One squad should suffice," Coluber announced, "Send me the coordinates and I will divert forces to intercept. Go see to it."

Nugga retreated with a sly grin, leaving the pair of officers standing in the damp mud. Soza shook his head and said, "You would be well advised to let Kardas win, he could hardly be any worse than Nugga."

"I care nothing for local politics," Coluber stated, "Nugga, Kardas, they are just as bad as each other."

Now Soza frowned and said, "Then why promise the Governor your help?"

Coluber deigned to explain, "I need surety in my dealings and certitude that our agreements will be fulfilled. Nugga is a known quantity, this Kardas may have ideas of his own that are counter-productive."

Soza let out a morbid laugh and said, "You mean Kardas has a spine and Nugga does not, he's too afraid of you to back out of your deal."

"That too," Coluber confessed, "I've only just got Nugga trained to obey; I don't have the time to be breaking in a new Governor."

Soza snorted, "Never thought I'd meet a Space Marine in person, but you are certainly not what I expected."

"Good, I hate being predictable," Coluber replied, "Now see to the defences, I have an assassination to plan."


	16. Chapter 16

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 16**

Across the Amber Viper's base frantic activity was occurring. Everywhere chattel servants laboured to load supplies, taking possession of munitions, parts and fuel as quickly as they could be brought to the gates. Long lines of repurposed servitors dragged heavy crates onto waiting shuttles and cargo-lifters, which launched from their pads with earth-shattering roars the second they were cleared to fly.

The work was arduous but none doubted the need. These supplies were the lifeline of the Chapter, sustaining them for however long it would take them to find another war to join. Like a man stocking up for a famine everything that could be saved was jealously hoarded, there was no telling how long these supplies would have to be stretched for. So the mortals laboured as shuttle after shuttle lifted for orbit, knowing that the rebel army was mere days away and would not hesitate to sever this critical lifeline.

With all the hustle and bustle of the base the return of a single Thunderhawk almost went unremarked. _Viper's Bite_ coasting in to a reserved landing pad like a thief in the night, settling down gently onto its claws with precise bursts of thrust. It was a surprisingly gentle touchdown but then the Amber Viper's couldn't afford to risk their precious gunships with showy displays of piloting and unnecessary stunts. Keeping even two relic craft like these flying was straining their infrastructure.

 _Viper's Bite_ clinked as its engines cooled and teams of servitors and Chattels hastened to tend to its weary spirit. Meanwhile the front ramp descended, allowing the passengers to disembark. First out was Sergeant Reddam, pushing his bike, followed by the rest of the squad. Tebes' bike was being pushed by Glord, as the young warrior still wasn't back to full strength. Together they limped down to the hard Ferrocrete and there they stopped.

Reddam surveyed the area and saw the busy activity, he took it in at a glance for he had seen such sights a thousand times before and knew the signs of a base that would not be here a minute longer than necessary. Behind him Glord propped the bike upright then made a show of loudly clicking his back as he exclaimed, "What, no welcoming party?"

Larus pulled the attack bike to a halt next to him and stated, "The Chapter is at war, we are a low priority."

Joffel snorted from behind them, "I thought the Chapter Master was going to shower us with laurels."

"He is busy with important affairs," Larus snapped.

Kazao was the last to finished unloading his bike and said, "Well someone comes."

Reddam saw Joffel's lip curl but he had the good grace not to say anything; thankfully at that point he saw Apothecary Shrios and the artisan Nathanal hurrying towards them, bearing various items and seemingly in a rush. Reddam faced them and called, "Hail Brothers!"

Shrios marched right up to them and said, "So it is true, the secret got out, can't you keep one thing to yourself?"

Reddam was used to the Apothecary's blunt tone; they were both of the 'Old Seventeen' and had fought through hell together. Reddam shrugged and said, "I don't command the universe, war is an unpredictable thing."

Shrios sighed loudly and tossed Kazao the object he was holding, it was a Stormtrooper's helmet and the Apothecary declared, "Try not to lose this one; we are not made of coinage I'll have you know!"

Kazao hastily ripped the bandages off his scaled face and everybody looked away as he jammed the helmet on, hiding his mutation. Reddam saw the chattels averting their eyes and knew they had been commanded to keep their mouths shut. Reddam faced Shrios and asked, "How fares the war?"

Shrios sighed, "Dorn's Blood, its bad, Primus Cohort are zipping back and forth trying to slow the rebel advance while Secundus Cohort has been driven from the field. You're the last lot back."

Reddam stepped closer and hissed "Fang-rot, you're supposed to say Fang-rot."

"Oh… yes," Shrios muttered distractedly, "Why can't I get that through my head? Now where's Tebes? There you are, let me look at that wound… Flying frak, who taught you to apply a dressing like that?! Come here and let me show you how it's done."

Reddam let the Apothecary care for his wounded charge but at that point Nathanal gasped and declared, "What have you been doing to my bikes?!"

Reddam half-turned and saw the mortal crouching to peer under the suspension of one of the bikes and inspect the damage. Reddam replied firmly, "Fighting a war, that's what."

Nathanal reach underneath and picked out a shard of bloody bone and exclaimed, "Have you been running people over again? I told you that's no way to fight a war!"

At that Larus snarled, "Watch your tone, chattel!"

But Reddam rebuked him, "He fixes them, so we can fight with them. Respect his work and the care he shows for our Machines."

Nathanal stood up and touched the large dent on the back of the attack bike, where Reddam had crashed into it and said, "Whoever did this was careless and disrespectful, it will take me ages to fix."

The Sergeant could feel the eyes of his squad boring into the back of his neck but loudly changed the subject, "Where is the Chapter Master?"

Nathanal replied without looking up, "Over by hanger seven, making his plans."

"Come on then," Reddam declared, "Let us go and report to our lord and master."

The squad left their bikes in the artisan's care, knowing he could tend to them better than they ever could. Tebes had to endure a stern talking to on proper wound care from Shrios but soon they departed and marched across the base. Everywhere they saw chattels dashing to and fro and more than a handful of Brothers from Secundus Cohort. Reddam noted there were no Brothers of Primus present, obviously they were engaged at the front, a place he would dearly love to be.

As they walked Larus remarked, "Are those trenches around the city?"

"Surely not," Kazao replied, "The Amber Vipers have no use for defensive warfare."

"Think you know better than the Chapter Master now?" Joffel sneered.

Reddam ignored their sniping but he was also confused, he had seen the rebel's armaments and knew these defences would do little more than slow them down. He thought upon it but could see no reason for this strategy, yet could only trust his Master knew something that he didn't. As if thinking of him has summoned the Marine, Reddam spied the Chapter Master in his battered plate, standing proudly with his head held high. He was talking with another Marine outside a sealed hanger, a scarred veteran with a determined set to his eye. He was holding an axe-rake in one hand and holstered at his hip was the wide bore of a rare Sledgehammer gun.

Glord started in surprise and whispered, "That's Battle-Captain Ferrac! The finest warrior in the Chapter!"

Joffel sounded amazed as he breathed, "The author of our most glorious victories, to fight beside him is an honour."

Tebes however muttered, "The most blood-soaked you mean. He's got more Amber Vipers killed than most enemy armies have managed."

"Shut-up," Reddam growled as they closed then called, "Hail Master."

Coluber eyed the Sergeant as the squad bowed before him and then he sternly spake, "Reddam, you're not dead."

"Not yet," Reddam replied candidly.

Ferrac uttered in a low growl, "Shame, I really wanted that spear of yours…"

The trio stared at each other for a long moment then their faces cracked and broad smiles broke out. Reddam couldn't help it; he had fought and bled beside these two since before there were any Amber Vipers and they with him. Their bonds were unbreakable and they had shared too much to have any rancour between them.

Ferrac laughed as he slapped Reddam hard on the shoulder and exclaimed, "You are to be congratulated, you lasted a full day longer in the field than any other unit of Secundus. Same old Reddam: first into the fray and the last out."

Reddam grinned and remarked, "I see you've been busy too…"

Ferrac hefted his axe-rake and Reddam saw bloody smears over the pick side and upon the opposing chain-teeth were dark stains. The Battle-captain looked proud as he said, "I've barely stopped fighting since we last spoke."

Reddam politely ignored the hatched out mark of a lupine skull with a blood drop upon the back of the reclaimed weapon and asked, "Did your kill-tally reach triple figures?"

"Naturally," Ferrac stated proudly, "I was eager for more than thin Heretic blood, but we all have to suffer small indignities. It's been mostly hit and run attacks, slowing them down as best we can."

Coluber stepped in and said, "Yes, so diverting a Thunderhawk was a serious drain on our efforts. I trust you appreciate that fact."

"Yes my Lord," Reddam stated deferentially.

"Now let me look at you lot," Coluber barked eyeing the squad.

The young Brothers stood straighter as their Lord loomed over them and announced, "You have covered yourselves with glory and your names shall be read aloud at our victory feast. You have my thanks and as a reward I have a new mission for you. A high-priority target has been uncovered and I need you to eliminate it."

Joffel boldly shouted, "You can count on us!"

"Indeed," Coluber replied, "One of the local nobility has become inconvenient and scurries away to his secure villa south of the city. You are tasked with ending this individual along with his allies and servants, prisoners are not required or desirable."

Reddam frowned at that and asked suspiciously, "Is this target a rebel?"

"Does it matter?" Larus stated, "A target is a target."

Tebes agreed, "Death to any who oppose the Amber Vipers."

Reddam didn't like the indifference in their tones but Coluber was already drawing a data-slate from his belt and presented it saying, "Our frigates slipped over his villa and took a look. Examine these schematics, I want you to show me how much, you've learned so present me with a viable assault plan in two minutes. Naturally, I expect nothing less than perfection from you."

Eagerly the squad gathered round buoyed by the responsibility laid upon them but Reddam stepped closer and said, "Master, a word if you will."

Coluber nodded and they stepped away, leaving the youths behind. Reddam looked at his superiors and said, "My lord, permission to speak freely?"

"We already know," Ferrac butted in, "Kazao's mutations got leaked. A shame, we would have liked a few more missions for your unit to bond first but you handled it well."

However Reddam said, "Not that, it's about this mission. Why is this man a target?"

Coluber's face was as stone as he said, "Nugga requires him dead and I need Nugga… for now."

Reddam's lip curled and said, "Are we assassins now? Guns for hire?"

"Not you too," Coluber groaned, "I've had this argument with Ferrac already."

"He's right though," Ferrac commented, "This is beneath us."

Coluber looked at them and said, "Don't you think I know that, but it has to be done. We can't afford the luxury of a conscience at this stage. The Chapter has no time for us to be quibbling over morality when we walk the precipice of extinction."

Reddam glanced at his squad and sighed, "I worry about what we are teaching the next generation. They already show scant concern for their sacred duty. We know what duty is, but when the last of us dies who will remember our nobility? Who will the Amber Vipers be when the 'Old Seventeen' are gone?"

Coluber's grim visage cracked and he breathed, "Truthfully, that thought plagues my meditations. Will we create something better than we knew before or will we forge another host of renegades, like those who drove us into our Exodus? I try to see an honourable path but we are out of options, this is who we have to be, until we are strong enough to stand proud and independent. The Amber Vipers must survive and grow stronger. I won't let anything stand in the way of that, no matter what it takes."

Ferrac placed a hand on his shoulder pad and said, "That is why we follow you, but know you are not alone in this."

Reddam concurred, "We are with you, to the last drop of blood."

Coluber lifted his eyes and said, "Space Marines are supposed to have no use for hope but you two remind me of what it was like to know such things. Now Reddam… let us see what your squad has come up with."


	17. Chapter 17

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 17**

His feet hit the dark surface as he ran, slapping loudly over and over in quick succession. His breath rasped in his throat and his lungs burned in a way he had not experienced in years. He was running as fast as he could but it wasn't fast enough, the fear clenching his heart told him that. He had to be faster, he had to get away. The hairs on the back of his arms pickled as he sensed the pursuer chasing him, matching his speed step for step. The hot, wet air on his neck told him how close his hunter was, the monster stalking him through the darkness. It had his scent now and it was hungry, a primal instinct told him so, it was coming for him and when it caught up, it would devour him.

Sheer terror lent his feet a burst of speed and he ran into the murk with the swiftness of any prey. His eyes saw nothing but unformed shadows all around him but he cared not. What lay ahead did not matter, only what was behind. Flight the only thing he could think about and there was no other room in his soul for anything but fear. So he simply ran, fleeing from the predator on his tail but knowing it was catching up.

Suddenly he stumbled, his weary feet giving out to send him sprawling on his face. He scrambled about but the floor felt as slippery as ice and he could not rise. Then he heard a soft thump behind him and sensed an animalistic presence looming over him. Frantically he rolled over and beheld his hunter, crouched over him like a predator over wounded prey.

It was huge, a mass of muscle and claws, all feral power and savage fury. Its hide shimmered as iridescent scales slipped over each other and the eyes were red orbs slit by a black gash. The hunter leaned down as a leer split its face, revealing razor-sharp fangs in its maw and a forked tongue. The predator held still for a moment, relishing the terror of its prey and then it leapt, maw wide open and he could do nothing but scream.

Then darkness took him.

"Arrrrrr!" Arbet yelled as he thrashed frantically, his arms and legs encumbered by the tangled bedsheets. Filled with fear the Lieutenant flailed widely, kicking and punching at the air as he tried to understand what was going on. His desperate movements caused him to roll and then he fell, hitting the wooden floorboards with his arse.

Arbet's chest heaved but the surprise shocked him awake, bringing him back to reality like a slap to the face. The Lieutenant sat still, breathing frantically as his eyes took in the damp walls and bare floorboards of his room, exactly as it had been when he had fallen asleep. It was a dim and pokey little billet but to a man accustomed to the field, it was luxurious.

"It was only a dream, a nightmare," Arbet repeated to himself, "It's not real." The mantra calmed his jangled nerves and in a minute his breathing returned to normal. Arbet realised he was tangled up his bedsheets and was sitting upon the floor so he began to unwrap himself, revealing his uniform beneath. He realised that he hadn't even bothered to take his boots off last night, merely flopping onto the bed and going straight to sleep.

He was in for a far more disturbing shock when he pulled his arm free and saw he was gripping his pulse pistol in his hand. The alien weapon was firm in his grip and his stomach fell as he saw that in his slumber he had drawn the weapon and flipped off the safety. "Bescumber, what was I thinking? I could have killed myself," Arbet swore as he recalled all the tales of soldiers shooting themselves through carelessness or a moment's madness.

Carefully the Lieutenant flipped the switch back on then holstered his weapon and disentangled himself. He stood up and lumbered over to the corner where there was a basin of cold water, a mirror and a pisspot. He plunged his hands into the tepid water and then washed the sleep from his eyes, before looking up and seeing the man looking back at him. What he beheld was a man who had seen far too much, and had far too little sleep. He was bleary-eyed and haggard, worn out by the stresses of life and fretful in his gaze. Arbet appeared to have aged a decade since he had last looked in a mirror and he knew why that was so.

His platoon had chased the Space Marines half-way across the moors, running them down with superior numbers and firepower. Then at the last second the enemy had been saved by an unexpected airstrike, scooped up before his very eyes. Arbet had cursed loudly as he watched the gunship soar away, had their own aircover not been destroyed the Space Marines could never have got away.

It was galling but there had been nothing to do save return to the Brownshirt's command post and make a report. They had rolled in late in the day and been thoroughly debriefed by a succession of snobby rear-echelon officers, men Arbet reckoned had probably never touched a gun, let alone shot anyone. He hadn't kicked up a fuss though, not after his failure and what he had witnessed.

That thought made Arbet's heart flutter again, the visage of the mutant he had uncovered. The image haunted him; appearing in his vision every time he closed his eyes. He hadn't told anyone else what he had seen, the men were already scared enough of the Space Marines without being told what horrors they concealed amongst them. Arbet couldn't forget though, that vile face haunted him night and day, its sheer inhumanity clawing at his equilibrium, filling him with fear and dread in equal measure.

Like all humans Arbet had been raised to despise and loathe mutants, just as they were taught to revere Space Marines. Aliens on the other hand were well… alien. They were too different to be upsetting but mutants were just human enough to promote a visceral revulsion, the thought that such nightmares lurked with the human genome was a source of horror. The idea that Space Marines, with all their power and majesty, would mix with such filth was abhorrent. What vile pacts had they sworn to create such monsters? What terrifying power might it unleash?

Arbet realised his hands were shaking and he growled, "Stop it; you're a grown man, not a child." It didn't work; the dread lurked behind his eyes and it wouldn't go away. To distract himself he shrugged off his jacket and holster, then took up a razor and a half-empty can of foam and began to shave in the small washbowl. The action steadied his hands and he was able to still his thoughts as the razor scraped over his chin.

He was almost done when there was a sharp rap at the door and he frowned. He turned to see Sergeant Egar opening the door, looking bashful as he said, "Sorry sir, but there's…"

He was interrupted as Colonel Westerfield swept in, the most senior commander of the People's Liberation army striding into the billet without waiting for an introduction. He was followed as ever by O'Dea, the Tau emissary looked about the room with a sniff of disdain.

Arbet's jaw fell and he hurriedly sketched a precise salute but Westerfield waved him down saying, "Solidarity: as you were, I won't berate a man for catching him off guard."

Arbet was aware that he was standing with shaving foam over his jaw but tried to look dignified as he asked, "Solidarity: Can I do anything for you, Sir?"

Westerfield took off his formal cap and grinned saying, "Hard to imagine what else I could ask for, after your triumphant return."

Arbet blinked in confusion and said, "I'm sorry Sir, didn't you read the briefings? We failed to stop the Space Marines escaping, they got away."

Westerfield shook his head declaring, "You're too close to the problem to see it, but you fulfilled your orders to the letter. I told you to secure our flanks and so you did, the Space Marines have been driven off and our rear is safe thanks to you and the other platoons. Body counts don't matter, strategically this was a win."

Egar coughed loudly and said, "We did kill three of them."

"One," Arbet hurriedly corrected, "We definitely saw one take a burst cannon to the chest, no one shakes that off. He limped away with the rest but he must surely have died from a wound like that."

Westerfield smiled slightly and replied, "As I said, you did well. I wanted to thank you in person and the other squads too, I am visiting them all to inform them I'm granting three days leave to all our heroic boys, as a reward."

Egar beamed from behind them but O'Dea spoke up to say, "We cannot linger, the final days are at hand. The Greater Good must be advanced."

Westerfield held up a palm and said, "It takes time to mobilise an army, the Big Push can't be organised in one night."

Arbet blinked in surprise and exclaimed, "Are we ready for that?"

"Indeed," Westerfield said, "Its common knowledge now, Dunham city fell to us while you were out in the field. The Imperials have retreated to the Kalcha Mountains and are digging in. We suffer no more raids thanks to the work of men like you, now we can advance unopposed and crush Nugga and his cronies once and for all."

Egar muttered, "Sounds like a last stand to me, that's always bloody work."

O'Dea countered, "The Tau Empire has the greatest regard for our friends in the Gue'vassa. Our armouries are yours and our weapons are at your disposal."

"Battlesuits?" Egar asked with a glint in his eye.

"Alas no," O'Dea said, "Such devices are most difficult to obtain, but you shall have tanks and guns and planes to spare."

Arbet wasn't surprised; the Tau weren't dumb enough to arm humans with their best gear. But even so their cast-offs were far superior to anything the Brownshirts could manufacture for themselves. Yet he dared to ask, "What about orbital support?"

Now Westerfield replied, "Not with the capital's defence lasers, this will require a ground offensive. I'm pulling in everything we've got for this one, every last unit and every man who can hold a gun. We will sweep aside their paltry defences and obliterate them in one day. Maraha will be free at last."

Eagerly Arbet said, "Sir, my unit would like to volunteer…"

"Stop, stop, stop," Westerfield ordered waving his hands in the air, "I'm giving you three days off to recover. Take some time to relax and get your head straight. The war will still be here when you come back. Let me worry about the battle, you enjoy yourself. I want you fresh for the final fight and then we shall talk about that Captaincy I promised you."

Arbet saluted precisely as Westerfield turned and strode out, followed by O'Dea. Egar let them get out of sight then eagerly exclaimed, "Three days leave, I'll tell the men!"

"You do that," Arbet said distractedly and then sank to the bed as the Sergeant left the room.

For a moment he sat there with his head in his hands and tried not to swear. In truth he didn't want to be sitting about with nothing to do, he wanted to be busy; he wanted to be out there fighting. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was that vile mutant and the thought that it was out there somewhere made his skin crawl. Arbet couldn't get away from the fact that the mere existence of such a horror made him afraid and he hated being afraid. It was then that it occurred to him what he had to do, the knowledge presenting itself like the sun emerging from behind a cloud.

He had to find the mutant and kill it, that was the only way to be free of the fear, kill the mutant and the fear would be conquered in turn. He almost leapt to his feet but then caught himself and said, "Patience man, patience. It's three days to the Big Push, you can handle three days. Just be patient and then this can all be over and you don't have to be afraid anymore."


	18. Chapter 18

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 18**

It felt like he weighed nothing at all, as if he was floating freely in space. It was a strange sensation, almost peaceful in a way. Yet that serenity was marred by the buffeting of the wind and the roaring in his ears, caused by the rushing of the air as he dropped through it. Far below the dark contours of the land swelled in his vision, growing more defined second by second even though they were lit by nothing but starlight.

Sergeant Reddam saw the ground growing larger as he plummeted towards it, while behind and above Viper's Bite retreated into the distance. Reddam gave it no heed but instead focussed on his objective, a palatial villa complex set upon the slopes of a gentle hill. This was the home of their target, Magnate Kardas, and it was getting bigger by the second.

Reddam saw he was drifting off course and corrected his trajectory with a short burst of thrust from his grav-chute. It felt like a kick in the rear, throwing him across the sky yet he knew from experience that it was the gentlest feather-touch compared to the hefty kick of a Jump-pack. He wasted a whole second cursing the fact that the Amber Vipers had no jump-packs to spare. Such blessed instruments of war were precious and reserved only for the Primus Cohort, as always Secundus had to make do with whatever they could scrounge.

Reddam glanced out the corner of his eye and saw the rest of the squad falling, each one bearing their favoured weapons. Glord was lagging behind, the bulk of the Heavy Bolter strapped to his chest causing drag but there was nothing to be done about that. The squad was on target and the enemy was blissfully unaware that they were under attack.

Orbital scans had revealed the villa to be improperly defended, a rich man's playground rather than a proper fort. Still it boasted wide grounds and clear fields of fire, a ground assault was too risky, especially when the villa had no auspex or anti-air defences. Tebes had suggested an orbital barrage would suffice but Reddam had ruled that out, orbital fire was notoriously inaccurate and blatantly obvious. Chapter Master Coluber wanted visual confirmation that was Kardas dead, and he also wanted no witnesses left to tell the tale, nobody could know the Amber Vipers had been here.

In the second he had been thinking this the villa had grown to become a sprawling complex of interlinked buildings. Maraha had no moon to illuminate the night but the starlight was more than enough for Reddam to see the red tiles of the roofs and a number of luxurious ground-cabs loitering outside. He readied himself to engage his grav-chute and steered towards his selected landing site.

Imperial Guard veterans like the Elysian drop-troops or the Harakoni Warhawks reckoned that a stealth insertion required dropping to one thousand metres before activating their suspensor fields. Reddam considered that safety margin to be soft and timid; he shot through one thousand metres without pausing and didn't blink as he passed nine hundred, eight hundred, seven hundred and six hundred metres. At five hundred metres he gripped the toggle of his grav-cute and felt the suspensor fields springing to life, backed up by continuous burns from his thrusters.

A bone-breaking kick slammed into his body, arresting his fall instantly. Grav-chutes were less demanding than Jump packs but Reddam was pushing his to the very limit of tolerance, more than any mortal would have dared. A red-tiled roof surged up at him and he flexed his legs as he hit it, feeling forces ring through him that would have shattered any Guardsman's legs.

Reddam had timed his landing to perfection and hit his chosen spot to the very inch, but he hadn't accounted for the flimsy nature of civilian construction. As he slammed into the roof the tiles shattered under his right foot and his boot went straight through with a loud crack. Reddam was left sprawled across the roof, one leg dropping through the hole, the other lain out behind him. He froze as he waited to see if his arrival had alerted any guards, going absolutely still with his hearing straining to the maximum.

Thankfully it seemed the mortals weren't on high alert and he breathed easier as the seconds slid by without any screams arising. Grimacing Reddam pulled his leg free then slid down to the edge of the roof. He saw nobody about so carefully dropped down, landing silently on his feet. He seemed to be in a small square garden, surrounded on all sides by roofed walkways and white-washed buildings. The night was still and calm and he heard no signs that anybody was awake.

A heavy thud erupted behind him and he saw Glord rising from a crouch, pulling free his Heavy Bolter and slotting home a drum magazine with a satisfying thump. "Nice landing Sergeant," Glord whispered.

"Shut-up," Reddam growled in vexation, scanning the area for threats as he drew his spear. Thankfully none emerged and he saw the rest of the squad falling into the garden, drawing their weapons as they did so. Within one minute the squad was assembled and Reddam signalled them to prepare. They shrugged off their Grav-chutes while he spent a millisecond assessing Tebes, but the youth was sound in his movements, his enhanced physiology erasing his wounds as if they had never been.

Confidently Reddam led them out, heading into the complex. Within the villa the décor was lavish and expensive, heavy rugs were laid over the varnished wood of the floors and the walls bore portraits of various dignitaries or stone busts set in small alcoves. Reddam had seen the typical dwellings of this world and knew them to be rough and bare of luxuries. By comparison this villa was a palatial mansion, a decadent ornament to show off the owner's wealth. Yet Reddam cared not for the inequalities of this planet, privilege and poverty were the base state of the Imperium. Most planets had wealth divides that made this amateurish display seem almost comical in its feeble attempt to lord over the masses.

Reddam led his squad deeper into the villa, passing empty rooms and deserted corridors. After a while he heard Joffel hiss, "Where is everybody? Why are there no servants to be seen?"

Glord ventured, "Maybe this Kardas sent everybody away?"

Kazao concurred, "He is plotting a coup, the fewer witnesses the better."

Joffel snorted at the mutant's words but Larus stated, "I saw many ground-cars outside, Kardas is not alone. His co-conspirators must be here."

Tebes stated, "Such men do not travel unescorted and they can usually afford the best defences."

Glord swung his Heavy Bolter to cover an empty room as he commented, "I'd wager Kardas has a few defences of his own."

Suddenly Reddam heard a scuffing noise and he held up a closed fist. Everybody froze, expecting trouble as Reddam inched forward, heading towards a door that was ajar. He leaned a hairsbreadth over the lintel and saw a glimpse of a long corridor beyond, it had many doors leading off it but at the far end was a heavy set double door. Standing before that door were a pair of burly men, in grey suits. They were leaning against the wall as if at rest but Reddam could see at a glance their wary gazes and the bulging of heavy pistols concealed on their persons. Bodyguards; experienced ones by his reckoning, too experienced to fall into careless stupors.

Reddam leaned back and silently signed his finding to the rest of the squad. Glord stepped up, hefting his Heavy Bolter but he was firmly stopped by Reddam's hand upon the barrel. Gently he pushed Glord back and then pointed a finger at Larus then jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. Larus nodded and stepped up to the door jamb, drawing his knives as he did so. The youth paused at the threshold and took a slow breath, then he smoothly spun into the open and threw his knives at his targets.

Reddam instantly barked, "Charge!" as he led them into the corridor. He needn't have hastened though, both bodyguards were down, slumped against the door in limp poses. Reddam hurriedly jogged up the corridor and saw that one man was dead already, his throat torn out while the other was slumped upon the ground, his shoulder impaled by a knife.

The mortal's eyes were open and bulging with pain but the wound itself was not serious. Yet plumes of blood were spreading over his eyes and froths of spittle were bubbling on his lips while his bladder voided itself, leaving him sitting in a puddle of urine. It was the poison on Larus' knife Reddam realised, slowly killing the man despite the mere flesh wound.

Larus retrieved his knife from the corpse but when he reached for the other Tebes said, "Wait a moment."

"Why?" Larus asked blankly.

"This one is in pain, yes?" Tebes inquired.

"Catachan Devil venom causes agonising pain," Larus answered.

"Then there's no need to rush," Tebes stated coldly.

Reddam rolled his eyes; he didn't care the mortal died fast or slow and left the bodyguard to his lingering end as the squad watched on. Reddam stepped to the door and pressed his ear against it, listening intently. His enhanced hearing detected the sounds of breathing from many people. He deduced that there were at least two score people on the other side of the door and he heard the high-pitched voices of women among them. Reddam stepped back and hissed, "Target located, prepare to engage."

Instantly the squad tensed, bringing their weapons up to point at the door. Reddam knew that speed and surprise would be his best allies in this action and wasted not a moment to lift his boot and slam his foot against the lock. The heavy wooden doors were no match for Transhuman strength; even without power armour assistance and they flew open before his might. Reddam had been expecting some lavish abode so he was most surprised when he instead saw the space beyond was plain and functional, filled with ovens and tables and refrigeration units: a kitchen.

Kneeling among the tables were a crowd of men and women of all ages and builds, sitting forlornly with their knees drawn up to their chins. Many were rocking back and forth as tears welled in their eyes and they looked up with startled expressions as the Amber Vipers burst in. Yet Reddam's eyes were instantly drawn to the four bodyguards standing over them, with pistols drawn.

The bodyguards started in surprise and began to lift their pistols but Reddam's reaction speed was blinding. His hands blurred and his spear flew free, slamming into the furthest man, bursting through his chest and out the other side. The spear plunged into the wall behind him, leaving the mortal standing there, pinned like an insect to cloth.

The others had also leapt at the bodyguards, weapons flashing. Tebes' mining pick hammered into the nearest man's guts, doubling him over as his internal organs ruptured. Meanwhile Joffel bounded at another mortal, his sword neatly decapitating him with one stroke. Kazao was less elegant; he reversed his grip on his Grenade Launcher and drove the butt into the last man's jaw. Teeth went flying as the man stumbled and Kazao finished him off with a blow to the head that staved in his skull.

The bodyguards had fallen without firing a single shot but the mortals wailed and screamed at the sight, crying loudly at the dead bodies before them. Men drew back in fear as women shrieked and one boy, no more than ten, started crying. Reddam snarled in irritation as he retrieved his spear, this was a complication he didn't need.

Glord looked about and said, "We found the servants."

Larus replied, "Seems Kardas didn't trust them to keep quiet."

"What are we to do with them?"Joffel asked.

"Leave them here," Kazao proposed, "They are no threat to us."

Reddam however lifted his spear and uttered, "Orders were clear: no prisoners and no witnesses."

The crowd of people shrank back and one man cried, "No! Please we've done nothing!"

Another man pleaded, "We're on your side, we're loyal! We're loyal to Terra!"

"You're Space Marines!" a woman shrieked, "You're supposed to protect people like us!"

Reddam however shut out their cries and hardened his hearts. These people had laid eyes upon the Amber Vipers and so compromised his mission, the consequences of that were inescapable. Reddam levelled his spear and growled, "Squad: kill them all."


	19. Chapter 19

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 19**

A hook-claw spun past Reddam's eye, missing his face by an inch. He saw the sliver of metal drift past, seeming to be in slow motion to his enhanced senses. The weapon was held in the hands of a slab-bulked warrior, whose limbs were swollen by chem-injectors and vat-grown muscles. Reddam could see the insane fury in his eyes, the mindless rage and knew the man was being fed some cocktail of combat-stims.

Reddam leaned back as the warrior missed, pulled off balance by his own swing. The foe was too close to use his spear-point but he swung the haft of his weapon laterally to smash into a reinforced flank. In other circumstances Reddam would have expected to fling the mortal away but the bulked out warrior merely grunted, either too augmented or too addled to notice. The enemy was frothing at the mouth as he bore down on Reddam and struck with an overhead sweep of the hook-claws held in his hands. It was Reddam's turn to grunt as he lifted his spear and caught the blades on the haft, feeling the force ring down his arms. The foe growled as he applied more pressure, seeking to force Reddam to his knees, but he had no understanding of the power of Astartes' physiology.

As immense forces bore down upon him Reddam became an unmovable rock. The spear held above his face not moving so much as an inch, despite the crushing weight laying upon it. The foe redoubled his efforts but achieved nothing and for the first time his drug-addled gaze cracked, revealing shock and bewilderment. Reddam saw his moment and convulsed his jaw, triggering his Betcher's Gland implant. The artificial organ responded by ejecting a potent acid into his spittle, powerful enough to dissolve metal. Reddam hacked for a moment and then spat a gobbet of acid into his opponent's face, hitting him right in the eyes.

The enemy shrieked as the pain tore through him, penetrating his drug-haze and he dropped his weapons as he staggered back, clawing at his own face. Reddam instantly drew back his spear and then lunged, plunging the point into the warrior's heart. A loud thunk and a spray of blood accompanied his strike and the foe went limp as his life was cut short.

Reddam had bought a moment's respite and he looked up to see his squad embattled on all sides, fighting bodyguards and glanded warriors in every corner. They were currently fighting in a wide passageway, leading up to some wide double doors that were firmly shut. Reddam had led his squad here seeking their true target, but they had been ambushed by these warriors. He was secretly glad of it, anything to wash away the memory of what he had been compelled to do. After the incident in the kitchens it was good to experience a true fight, for it seemed that they had at last found an enemy worthy of their ire.

These bodyguards were an eclectic mix of mercenaries well armed and ready. Many of them had autopistols or shotguns but more were clad in armour or enhanced in some fashion. Gun-slingers, chem-glanded thugs, ritualistic killers, ex-Guard veterans and enhanced cyber-gladiators, each was a master in his own field of conflict and against mortal foes would have been unbeatable. But the Amber Vipers were more than willing to put that to the test.

Larus was facing off against a knot of warriors in swaddling robes, who came at him with wicked punch daggers in their hands as they ululated lyrical cries. Larus deflected their knife blows with his arms, deeply cutting his flesh but the pain did nothing to slow him down. He rode the blows with contempt and lashed out in turn, his own daggers tearing and gouging with merciless precision. The merest nick was enough to send men falling to the floor in a paroxysm of agony as the poison did its work and he left a trail of convulsing men thrashing in his wake as he advanced.

Elsewhere Tebes was facing off against a cyber-gladiator who could have been mistaken for a servitor, so heavily augmented was he. Roaring buzzsaws for hands lashed out at the Astartes and a single blow would have taken off his head but Tebes ducked and wove constantly, avoiding each strike. He spun behind the gladiator's guard and swung his mining pick at the back of a knee, where armour didn't cover it and The joint shattered sending the gladiator to the ground. Tebes angrily smashed it again and again, with doublehanded blows of his weapon, battering the gladiator apart one blow at a time.

Meanwhile Kazao was facing off against a burly Guard Veteran, who came at him with a bayoneted lasgun and a wild yell. Kazao had no melee weapon to speak of but he caught the lasgun behind the barrel and stopped the man dead in his tracks. The Guardsman's eyes bulged as he fought for control of the weapon but his grizzled muscles were no match for Transhuman strength and he was helpless to resist as the weapon was forced upright between them. Kazao's hand shot out and grabbed the back of the man's head and then pulled forward and down, impaling the man and holding him still as he died upon his own blade.

Joffel meanwhile was confronted by a man in loose silk pyjamas who swung two blades around himself with dazzling skill. Joffel raised his own sword defensively as the man barrelled towards him, eager to engage blade to blade in an epic duel of skill and speed. Joffel let him close but then suddenly lowered his sword and instead drew his bolt pistol to shoot the man point blank in the face. The headless corpse collapsed limply and Joffel nonchalantly looked about, seeking his next foe.

This had taken but a few seconds yet Reddam's eye was drawn to the sight of Glord. The Astartes was best by a pair of warriors with long knives in hand and was desperately trying to fend them off. Weighed down by his Heavy Bolter Glord couldn't keep them both at bay and was about to be overrun. Reddam roared as he leapt to cover his younger Brother, throwing himself at the pair of enemies. The first he took low in the back with his spear then lifted his fist to hit the other with a back-handed blow that sent him flying.

"Vandire's hairy arse!" Reddam yelled, "Are you going to use that thing or not?!"

"Hit the deck!" Glord bellowed as he levelled the Heavy bolter and let fly.

A thunderous booming hammered the air as the passageway filled with mass-reactive bolts. Rocket-propelled explosive rounds flew everywhere, hitting soft flesh and exploding with devastating might. Limbs were blown off and chests were blasted open as the barrage carved foes apart, cutting bodyguards down in droves. Glord panned his weapon left and right, firing over his prone Brother's heads as he cut enemies to shreds. Power amour could not have withstood the fuselage at such short range and the mortals were reduced to sprays of fine mist and bone. "Hahahahaha!" Glord bellowed as he smote lives, wildly crying his elation to any who could hear.

Even as the last bodyguards were being terminated Reddam was already charging forward, smashing into the locked doors. The wooden frame was no match for his momentum and he crashed through, chased by bolt rounds, to emerge into the room beyond. Reddam rolled over the floor, keeping his momentum going, for he was expecting a hail of bullets to greet him but there was nothing. Bemused Reddam rose to his feet and held his spear tightly in both hands as he surveyed the surprisingly silent room. It was eerie after the cacophony outside, but Reddam kept his guard up, expecting a trap.

He found himself in a large space, round in shape with rings of pillars set around the circumference, supporting a balcony that ringed the exterior wall. The walls were beautiful white stone, with murals of men marching into mines seeking productive labour while the Emperor sat on high as a benevolent overseer. The roof was a wide glassic dome, displaying the night sky in stunning clarity thanks to delicate lensing effects wrought into each panel. It was solarium, Reddam realised, just one more noble's toy.

Reddam heard shocked whispers from above and peered upwards to spy a gaggle of men in rich robes. They were clustered around the balcony, fretfully trying to hide behind each other and so avoid his gaze. Their rich robes declared their wealth and prestige as much as the waddles of fat weighing them down. They cowered away from him but he was between them and the door and there was nowhere to run. At their front was a man whose face Reddam recognised from the briefing images: Kardas, their target.

Kardas gasped at Reddam's entrance but he soon recovered his voice and shouted, "You! You can't be here!"

Reddam took a step forward but the men moved around the circle, keeping as far away as possible. Reddam saw this and also that the balcony obscured a clear shot so instead declared, "I go where the Emperor wills."

Kardas seemed outraged by this and shouted, "We are the servants of the Emperor, not you! We are trying to save this world from Nugga's incompetence."

"I don't care," Reddam growled as he tried to see a way up to the balcony.

"He put you up to this!" Kardas cried, "You fight for a man who cares nothing for Terra nor the Imperium!"

That struck close to home but Reddam closed his hearts and said, "You won't sway me from my mission and you can't escape."

"Where is your vaunted honour?!" Kardas spat, "You are supposed to fight for the Emperor. We are trying to do that ourselves, help us overthrow Nugga and we can save this world, in the Emperor's name!"

"Too little, too late," Reddam snarled as he heard the rest of the squad entering behind him.

With numbers on his side he could now pin targets down, prevent them from running away, it would be simple work to finish this. Reddam waved the squad to spread out and gestured Glord forward with his Heavy Bolter. Yet before he could draw a bead on the men Kardas held up a small device and shouted, "No! I won't die like this, I won't allow it!"

Reddam would have taken that for empty bravado save for the sudden vibration that struck his boots. He sensed heavy machinery rumbling to life beneath his feet and the noise of something awakening nearby. Reddam stepped back warily and hissed, "What have you done?!"

Kardas laughed disdainfully as he called, "Do you think I wasn't prepared for an attack? I knew someone would come for me, true I thought it would be the rebels, but you are no better. The rebels aren't the only ones with off-world friends and smuggler connections. I am a rich man and you'd be amazed what one can acquire on the black market, if one has the coinage to pay for it!"

Reddam saw the floor at the centre of the solarium was sliding back, revealing a dark pit and then from that hole arose a lifting plate. Standing on that plate was a large hunched shape, as big as a Space Marine, even when hunched over. Its backward jointed legs were wrought of pistons and rods and its metal feet were splayed claws, gripping the ground firmly with wicked talons. Its arms were two long clusters of barrels, able to spin rapidly and from them hung long sharp blades that shimmered with deadly power fields. Upon its back was the free-standing barrel of a strange weapon, looming over a skull and cog icon. The oddest thing about it was its low-hung head, with two bulbous visual sensors set on either side giving it an insectoid appearance. The metal of its body was chipped and scored in many places and age hung upon it but it still looked deadly as it rose before them.

The Amber Vipers stepped back and Joffel gasped, "What is that?"

"A Mechancius battle-automata," Reddam uttered as he desperately sought a weak point in its armour but found none, "A Vorax-class hunter-killer."

Then from above Kardas laughed gleefully, "Kill them all!"

With that the robot's eyes sparked into burning red points of fire and its rotor cannons span into a rapid blur. Reddam barely had time to blink before the Vorax opening fire, filling the air with hails of bullets.


	20. Chapter 20

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 20**

Screaming rounds filled the air, creating a blizzard of deadly shots as Twin cones of death sprang up before the Vorax cyborg. Anything caught in that area would have been eviscerated, torn to shreds by the onslaught of rounds, even power armour would have failed the test, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of fire. Scout armour, by comparison, stood no chance at all.

Yet Reddam was not there, for the second the words left Kardas' mouth the Sergeant had flung himself to the side, moving with Transhuman agility out of the way. The torrent flew through the space he had occupied a heartbeat before and chewed into the wall beyond, shattering the stonework and leaving huge impact craters. Reddam hit the floor shoulder first and rolled with his momentum, rising to his feet to dash away, jinking randomly from side to side. The Vorax pivoted after him, red eyes blazing as it chased him and as it did so it emitted a blurt of Binaric code that Reddam would have sworn sounded angry. With a heavy clomp it stomped forward, rotor cannons blazing, accompanied by raucous laughter from the balcony above. Reddam felt the rounds passing within a hairsbreadth of his back as he threw himself behind one of the pillars holding up the dome, sheltering behind its thick stonework.

He slammed his back against the cool surface and felt vibrations hammering into its stout girth as the cyborg killer poured fire into his cover. Clouds of dust and chipped stone flew around his narrow shelter as streams of bullets chewed it apart and he could do nothing but huddle there, gripping his spear tightly. His enhanced hearing told him the angle of impacts was shifting and the range shrinking: the Vorax was advancing and his cover was about to disappear. Reddam prepared to leap out the moment the Vorax appeared, determined to die with his face to the foe but suddenly another thunder arose. It was a Heavy Bolter, Reddam recognised, the steady boom-bangs of explosive bolt rounds hammering into metal. The blizzard chewing away his cover ceased and he heard heavy stomps as the Vorax turned about. He dared to lean out of cover and saw the cyborg facing a new enemy, the welcome sight of Glord.

While the Vorax chased Reddam the rest of the squad had relocated, taking cover behind other pillars. They leaned out of cover and let off snapshots with their bolt pistols but their fire merely pinged off the automaton's reinforced armour, as useless as a stubber against a tank. Yet it was Glord who drew the Vorax's attention, the youth standing between two pillars with his Heavy Bolter roaring.

"Come and get it you piece of kak!" Glord shouted as his weapon thundered, the fusillade exploding against the Mechanicus construct's armour. Plates were dented and panels scored bare by the torrent and the Vorax shuddered as it stomped about, bringing its own cannons to bear. Glord was undaunted though, firing continuously as death turned to face him and then his Heavy Bolter ran dry.

The Vorax squawked triumphant Binaric as it strode confidently forward, its rotor cannons spinning up to fixate upon Glord's exposed body. The Astartes leapt for the nearest pillar, but he was too slow and the Vorax thrummed as it prepared to fire. Yet an instant before it could shoot Kazao stepped out from behind another pillar, his helmet glinting darkly and from his Grenade Launcher spat the fat shape of a Krak Grenade. The explosive caught the Vorax on the side and blew up with a plume of fire. The machine staggered under the blast, its armour at last taking real damage and its guns sagged downwards.

From above Kardas shrieked, "No! You're supposed to die!"

Yet Reddam was already roaring, "As one, charge!"

With that he surged forward, leading with the point of his spear. In the corner of his eye he saw Joffel and Tebes charging, their weapons held high. Joffel was the fastest and charged right at the machine, his gaunt sword was made of Chitin and it would not penetrate the armour plating over its hunched back so he did not try. Instead he dove for the floor, skidding under the machine's legs as his sword slashed at its legs. Hydraulic fluid splurted out of a severed line and the Vorax squealed in Binaric as it lurched, losing speed in one leg. Meanwhile Larus leaned out of cover and threw one of his knives at its eye, but the small dart glanced harmlessly off the reinforced armourglass.

Taking advantage of its distraction Reddam ran past the machine's rear, his spear slashing at its bulk. The energised blade tore a deep furrow, leaving sparking mechanisms exposed. Reddam dashed away before the Vorax could counter but Tebes was already charging into the fray. The young Astartes drew back his arms as he ran and heaved his mining pick in one huge overhead sweep, slamming the flat head into the cyborg's shoulder. A crashing boom reverberated through the solarium, the sound of metal on metal ringing out like a struck bell and the Vorax staggered. For a moment Reddam thought it had taken critical damage, but only a moment.

The construct's eyes flared red and then it surged, throwing its arms out wide as it roared angrily in Binaric. Tebes was stepping back from the recoil of his own blow and one of the lighting wreathed blades protruding under the rotor cannons caught him a glancing blow to the chest. Carapace armour parted under the blade's touch and thick blood flowed freely as Tebes was sent staggering.

Tebes held one hand to his chest where blood seeped through the rent in his amour as he retreated, but the Vorax stepped back, bringing its rotor cannons to bear. Before it could fire Reddam slammed into Tebes, sweeping the lad off his feet and bearing him behind a pillar's safety. A hail of rounds erupted around them, chewing at the pillar as Reddam growled, "By the Maelstrom boy, you seriously need to learn how to dodge!"

From behind another pillar Glord was hurriedly fitting a new drum to his weapon and he called, "What does it take to kill this thing?"

Reddam was about to reply but then he heard a clanging noise and he leaned out of cover to see Joffel dancing around the Vorax. The automaton was lashing out left and right with its blades, trying to hit the weaving Astartes but Joffel was moving rapidly and kept out of the way of the sparking weapons. In return his sword swept and cut in looping sweeps, scoring the armour over and over. It was a fine display of skill but it was having no effect at all, the thick armour proof against his organic weapon and Reddam yelled, "Run, you damned fool run!"

Suddenly the bulbous weapon on the Vorax's back sprang to life, energy coils shimmering with power. The Vorax chittered evilly in Binaric as it targetted the dancing youth and then before he could react it fired. A fork of lightning shot forth, wrapping around Joffel, digging into his flesh and bone. The warrior convulsed as his nervous system was hit with raw electrical energy, the arcane projector earthing lightning through his body. Joffel fell down as his legs gave out, dropping his sword as his grip failed and from above Kardas yelled, "Yes, kill him! Kill them all!"

The Vorax poured it on, cooking the youth alive and Reddam knew he was too far away to intervene. Yet from nowhere came a small projectile, that caught the Vorax in the side. It was a Krak grenade and it hit the cyborg square on, detonating in a blaze of light and heat. The shaped charge buckled a plate on its shoulder and the Vorax staggered, its lightning gun snapped off, losing track of its target. Instantly Reddam was in motion, running at the machine from the other side. He lashed at its flank with his spear and was rewarded with a deep groove in its armour. He ducked as a weapon arm swung at him and jabbed with his spear at an eye, forcing the machine to fall back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kazao running for the fallen Joffel, his grenade launcher smoking. The mutated Astartes grabbed Joffel by a burnt arm and began to drag him into cover, shouting, "Come on, I've got you!"

The Vorax saw the pair limping away and swung an arm at them, its mechanical voice screeching in Binaric. Reddam saw the attack and lashed out with his spear, catching the arm and knocking aside the aim at the last possible instant. There was a burst of rotor fire and Kazao went down, blood spraying from his shoulder but the blow was non-fatal and Kazao dragged Joffel behind a pillar.

The Vorax growled in Binaric and redoubled its efforts to end Reddam's life. Energised blades flew at his face and he fended them off as best he could but the machine was relentless and drove him backwards. Attack after attack came at him and his spear blurred as he parried and countered, holding the construct at bay. It was a deadly test of speed and skill and one slip would see him dead but Reddam knew something the machine didn't, he knew he was only a distraction.

Suddenly Tebes charged into the fray, his chest covered in scabs but his arms as strong as ever. He roared in anger as he swung his pick right at the buckled plate, where the grenade had hit and with one mighty blow he sundered the metal, sending the plate flying. The Vorax screeched in Binaric and Reddam saw a mass of pulsing tubes and small canisters exposed in its innards. They were filled with preservative fluids and small lumps of grey neural tissue that quivered as life supporting nutrients were pumped through them. This was the Automaton's control cortex, the Mechancius' fundamental injunction against forging machines without a soul made manifest.

The Vorax desperately flailed about but Tebes swiftly swung again and his pick struck true, shattering the cortex into a smear of gore and grey brain matter. Reddam had expected an explosion of fire and metal, he had expected the cyborg to either go berserk or collapse to the floor but there was no such spectacle. The Vorax slowly ground to a halt and the light went out in its eyes and then it froze, standing there as still as a statue as it weapons went cold. There was a cry of anger and fear from above and Kardas screamed, "No! This can't happen!"

Reddam didn't even bother to look up but shrugged his spear and said, "Larus, complete the mission."

Larus nodded as he sprinted past and then leapt up, catching the balcony one-handed and hauling himself up. Reddam heard cries of pain and terror and the sounds of knives tearing flesh to ribbons but he wasn't interested in witnessing the mortal's deaths. Instead he walked up to Tebes and patted him on the shoulder saying, "Well done lad, a good kill. Learn to duck and you will be a power to be reckoned with."

Tebes nodded but kept one eye on the Vorax as Reddam walked over to the fallen.

He found them behind the pillar, both wounded but alive. He squatted down and saw Kazao pulling a bullet from the meat of his own shoulder. The mutant looked up and claimed, "It merely scratched me."

Reddam saw the bullet had hit bone and knew well the agony the youth would be experiencing but Astartes had no use for pain so he said, "Good, go and check on Tebes."

As Kazao stood and moved off Reddam looked at Joffel who was sitting woozily upright. He looked like he was badly sunburnt, almost as if he had been cooked and Reddam knew a few more seconds and he would have received a lethal blast. Reddam scowled and said, "That was stupid."

"I saw an opportunity," Joffel muttered.

"No," Reddam snarled, "What you should have done is coordinate with your squad, not make a brash grab for the glory. Remember laurels go to the squad, not the individual, Amber Vipers are nothing alone. As it is you nearly died for no purpose and owe Kazao your thanks."

"Thank that mutant?!" Joffel snarled contemptuously.

"Your Brother saved your life by risking his own," Reddam barked, "If you can't understand that you have no place among us."

With that he stood up and left Joffel to muse upon his words. He heard silence falling on the balcony and knew the targets were dead. He drew in a breath and declared for all to hear, "Mission accomplished Brothers."


	21. Chapter 21

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 21**

 _Viper's Bite_ shuddered as it hit the ferrocrete, the shock of landing transmitted through its hull to the passengers within. The restraint cages shook and weapon lockers rattled as the gunship set down. Turbines throttled down and the noise settled down to the routine sounds of the gunship securing itself after a long flight.

Reddam wasted no time pushing his restraint cage up and stepping out. The squad followed him without a word, headed towards the opening ramp. In the front hold they passed a large lump of metal, secured down with cable ties. It was the Vorax cyborg; they had dragged it out of the villa and brought it with them. Only a few hours before it had been trying to kill them but the Amber Vipers were pragmatic about battlefield salvage, it was a valuable haul and the Chapter was not in a position to pass up anything of value.

Reddam led his squad out onto the landing pad where brilliant dawn rays lanced into their eyes. The sun was just peeking over the snow-capped mountains, cold and bright but with the promise of a hot day to come. Reddam cast his eyes over the base and saw fresh activity everywhere. Buildings were being packed up and supplies stacked high, ready to be shipped out. Behind him Glord muttered, "Looks like we're off somewhere."

Larus stated flatly, "The rebel army must be close, these mortals cannot risk being caught in the battle. Better that they withdraw before the Heretics get here."

"Aye," said Kazao, "Let us do the fighting, the Amber Vipers will teach these scum a thing or two."

Reddam wasn't so sure of that, their Chapter had never favoured defensive warfare or battles of attrition. Even in the life before the Time of Exodus, when he had marched in other colours, they had been a dedicated assault force. Coluber's strategy of trench warfare seemed to be a serious mistake in his opinion, not that he would ever say that out loud. He cast his eyes out over the city, its industrial hubs and commercial districts still in the shadow of the great dam. Beyond those the rings of trenches were obscured by clinging fog, but it would soon burn off, leaving the field exposed. Soon those defensive lines would be soaked in blood and fire but for now it was eerily peaceful.

A noise distracted him and he saw gaggles of chattels closing, eager to refuel the Thunderhawk and prepare it for the next mission. This constant activity would strain the Machine's Spirit and would require lengthy refit and blessing after the war was over but that was a problem for later. First, they had to win the war.

"Come, we will find our Lord and Master," Reddam announced and led the squad on. They marched through the base, passing busy chattels about their tasks. Many looked harried and worn but that was their base state of being, the Amber Vipers had no more concern for the comfort of mortals than they did for their own. Nearby a squadron of Lightning fighters took off, seized from the Imperial reprisal army but operated by warriors of Secundus, they would perform far better with Transhuman pilots than they ever could in mortal hands.

Swiftly Reddam led his squad on and soon spotted Coluber and Ferrac standing outside hanger seven, exactly where they had left them. With them were Shrios and Nathanal, all in earnest conversation. For a mad moment Reddam though the officers hadn't moved since he had last laid eyes upon them but then he saw the new scars on their armour and the blood on their greaves and knew that they had been far from idle.

Reddam led the squad up to them and bowed saying, "Hail Master, we return."

Coluber nodded briskly and said, "Reddam, I hear congratulations are in order. I haven't had time to review your debriefing yet, so tell me how it went."

Reddam glanced at his squad but said confidently, "Complications arose but we adapted and overcame. The target is dead."

Joffel piped up, "And we acquired a Vorax robot!"

"A Vorax!" Nathanal exclaimed, "Is it repairable?"

Reddam shrugged to indicate such mysteries were beyond his ken but Shrios said, "Even if it's not we can always use the spare parts."

"I'll put my apprentices on it," Nathanal proclaimed, "They are reaching the limits of what I can teach them; a challenge will be a good opportunity to learn. They will never make Techmarines unless they push themselves."

Reddam interrupted to inquire, "May I ask as to the state of our bikes?"

Coluber took no offence and answered, "Fully repaired and awaiting you. You youngsters should go tend to them; I need a word with your Sergeant."

The squad bowed and left, leaving Reddam with his master. He stood proudly but Coluber eyed him and sighed, "Come on then, out with it."

"Master?" Reddam said hesitantly.

"I've known you long enough to see when you're holding back," Coluber stated, "Tell me what's bothering you."

Reddam sighed and looked at the ground as he said, "The combat zone was not clean, there were servants and retainers in the field."

"Civilians?" Ferrac hissed with narrow eyes, "Non-combatants?"

"Unfortunately," Reddam said, "I was obliged to kill them."

Sternly Shrios declared, "Nobody can be allowed to witness such deeds, we can't allow tales like this to get out. Besides they were only mortals, who cares what happens to them?"

The mortal artisan Nathanal glared at the Apothecary but Coluber stepped in to say, "You did the right thing."

"Did I?" Reddam asked pointedly.

Ferrac nodded and said consolingly, "It was a necessary duty, clear and unequivocal. I know what it is to yearn for glory and an honourable fight, but we all must bear such duties when they fall upon us."

Coluber agreed, "This does not make me happy, believe me I wish there was another way, but this had to be. There was no other choice."

Reddam grimaced and said, "It's the younger Brothers who concern me, they didn't seem bothered at all. Well, Kazao voiced a token protest but he was just as quick to follow through once I gave the order."

"Good," Shrios said, "Orders are to be obeyed, not questioned."

Ferrac's eyes snapped around and he spat, "Show some respect, the Sergeant was given a hard choice and did the only thing he could. Such deeds should be mourned, not celebrated."

Coluber cut off the argument with a raised hand and said, "Enough! We are not Marines Malevolent to revel in slaughtering innocents but neither are we Salamanders, to shed salt tears over every life lost. We chart our own path between honour and survival, such is our fate until the day we are a whole Chapter once more. Now let us not dwell on the past, let us speak of the future and the war to come."

Reddam nodded and said, "The rebels?"

Ferrac explained, "They mass beyond the range of our guns. I have been raiding their lines, disrupting their preparations, but it's only a delaying action. Orbital scans estimate they number over a million strong, they have pulled every rebel from across the planet in for this one strike. Feeding them must be a logistical nightmare but two more days and they will launch their assault."

"A million strong," Reddam sighed, "I've seen the defences and they are insufficient, we can't hold against such numbers."

"No we can't," Coluber concurred, "But that was never my intent."

Reddam's eyes narrowed and he guessed, "An orbital barrage?"

Coluber shook his head saying, "Not with that accursed Tau ship contesting the orbital vectors."

Reddam sighed loudly, "Then I can't see any way to defeat such numbers."

"Oh, put him out of his misery," Ferrac chortled, "Show him what we've got up our sleeve."

Reddam looked up in surprise as Coluber clapped his hands. The doors of the hanger began to rumble back, revealing what lay beyond. Reddam peered within and saw the hanger was almost empty, save for a single item. He followed the others inside as saw it was a vehicle, a low flatbed chassis, like a Chimera without its turret. Upon that hull saw a long cylinder with a tapered point at one end and clusters of nozzles at the other end. Strange runes covered the cylinder, unlike any Reddam had seen before but he recognised it as a missile, one that protruded well over the length of the flatbed it sat upon.

Reddam paused and looked in confusion at the weapon and asked, "What is it?"

Nathanal stuck his hands into his overall's pockets and beamed, "Good isn't it? I believe the official designation is Ordnance Extremis but we call it the Deathstrike."

"A Deathstrike!" Reddam exclaimed in equal parts wonder and horror. Such devices were weapons of mass destruction, intercontinental ballistic missiles fitted with the most devastating warheads. Such power surpassed the might of a Titan, only a starship boasted more potent weapons, but this was far more precise in the diffracting soup of an atmosphere. Such weapons were tightly controlled by the Departmento Munitorum, each one meticulously tracked from commissioning to manufacture to deployment and Astartes Chapters were categorically not gifted such weapons.

Reddam began to circle the missile, assessing it from end to end and he asked, "Emperor Wept, where did we get such a mighty relic?"

Ferrac grinned and said, "Remember that Munitorum convoy we found adrift in the void a couple of years ago? There was more than just las-packs and CATs in those holds."

Reddam raised an eyebrow and said, "The Munitorum is missing a Deathstrike? Some clerk somewhere will have been turned into a servitor for losing such a precious artefact."

"Frak 'em," Shrios snorted, "We found it, it's ours now."

Reddam returned his gaze to the missile and asked, "What kind of warhead am I looking at?"

Nathanal said proudly, "The rarest, a warp rift device: a Vortex missile."

A thought occurred to Reddam and he paused to glare at Coluber and said accusingly, "This was your plan all along!"

Coluber nodded, "Indeed, we were nothing but a mere nuisance to the rebels so I made them see us as a threat, to draw them out en-masse. Even the defences around the capital are but a lure, a target too tempting to pass up. Everything I've done since setting foot on this planet has been to provoke the rebels into amassing their forces, bringing them all together into one place where they can be annihilated."

Reddam blew out a breath in admiration but pondered, "A Deathstrike against mortals… isn't that overkill?"

"Total overkill," Ferrac agreed, "But the trouble with people who hold onto advantages too long is they are still holding them when they die."

Nathanal elaborated, "I'm no Mechanicus Archmagos and this holy relic is totally beyond my skill set. It has components I can't even name, let alone bless. I can just about bless it with fuel and point it in the right direction, another year or two and it may well break in a way I can't fix."

"So use it or lose it," Reddam mused, "Where do I come in?"

Coluber explained, "Ferrac and I shall hold the defences and draw the rebels into the killzone. Your squad will escort Nathanal and his artisans into the mountains, from where they shall fire the missile."

Reddam was honoured with such an important assignment but he dared to say, "Wait, it's an intercontinental missile, why bother? You could fire it from here and destroy a city."

"What part of 'I'm not an Archmagos' did you not understand?" Nathanal snapped, "The rituals for self-guidance are intricate and mysterious, I would have no idea where to start. Maybe if we had a real Techmarine they could do it, but the best I can give you is line of sight. I need to be somewhere I can see the target for this to work."

"I understand," Reddam declared, "So we are to escort this somewhere high, where we can see the rebels."

Coluber and Ferrac shared a glance and then the Chapter Master said, "Don't think this will be so easy, the route up the mountains is convoluted and this conveyance is hardly fast. Your bike squad will be hard pressed to reach the launch site before the city falls. Ferrac and I will hold as long as we can but time is against you, your squad must leave within the hour."

Reddam placed a fist over his hearts and declared, "You can count on us."

"I know I can," Coluber said, "Now here is what I want you to do when you get there."


	22. Chapter 22

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 22**

His hands wouldn't stop shaking; no matter what he did the tremors persisted. It was a constant nagging, the quiver making him look nervous and unsettled. Sometimes he could force it down with sheer will but the second he was distracted the shaking would start again, constant as the stench of an open sewer. Lieutenant Arbet clenched his hands hard, trying to make the shaking stop but that only made him break out into sweats, a hot rush accompanied by laboured breathing and gasping breaths. In frustration he shoved his hands into the packed earth before him, feeling the coolness of soil and roots press against his skin.

Arbet was currently crouched behind a bush, separating him from his platoon. He had ordered them to stop for a latrine break, and hastened away himself but that had just been an act. Arbet had felt an overwhelming sense of doom creeping over him and had needed someplace to calm his nerves, somewhere the other Brownshirts couldn't see his panic attack. The Lieutenant knew all too well what was causing this; it was the mutant, the vile creature that haunted his nightmares.

Arbet hadn't slept in ages, his nights filled with sweating terrors and his days afflicted with panic attacks. He hadn't managed more than an hour or two of sleep before awakening, desperately grabbing for his weapons to fend off the horrors lurking in his dreams. He had been forced to hang his pistol above the door, out of reach lest he draw his weapon and shoot himself in his dazed stupor. After three days of torture the call had finally come, the People's Liberation Army were ready, the attack was about to begin. Arbet had hurriedly gathered his platoon together and bustled them into the Devilfish, more than a few grumbling about being hauled from the brothels where they had been loitering. He had packed them up and driven them out, headed for the front, only to be forced to stop half-way.

Arbet knew he was no state to be leading men into war but he couldn't bring himself to present himself as unfit for duty. The mutant was out there, the vile abomination was waiting for him and if he didn't find the monster it would surely find him. Arbet was a soldier, it was all he knew, hiding in fear was anathema to his nature. He had to find the mutant and kill it, only then could he be free of this fear. In a detached, rational part of his mind a thought lingered, that maybe this was all a consequence of his upbringing in the Imperial Cult. When he was young the Preachers had filled his head with visions of hell, as they did with all Imperial boys and girls, he had been taught to abhor mutants and aliens, a violent reaction being instilled from the earliest possible age. Maraha had broken with the Imperium, even sided with Xenos, but such indoctrination ran deep and perhaps this was all a result of his actions conflicting with his upbringing, unbalancing his reason. Sadly such thoughts were mere wisps of cloud before the tornado of his emotions, casting aside all misgivings and driving him on.

Arbet's thoughts were interrupted by a soft scuffle behind the bush and he saw a flash of movement through the leaves. Before he knew what was happening he was on his feet, pulse pistol in hand. As he rose he thought he saw scales and those red slitted eyes, coming out of nowhere. The mutant had found him, it had come for him and he was wasn't ready. Arbet desperately fumbled with his pistol, trying to draw a bead before those sharp fangs killed him. At the last possible instant his vision cleared and he saw the brown fatigues and worn face of his sergeant, eyes going wide in shock at the pistol being shoved in his face. Egar threw up his hands and cried, "Holy Frak!"

Arbet realised he was lashing out at shadows and forced his hand down to holster his weapon, his breathing was fast but he knew he couldn't let the troopers see his anxiety. He made a show of jangling his belt buckle as if he had just finished his ablutions and then said, "Bescumber, don't sneak up on a man when he's communing with nature."

Egar sighed out and said, "Bit jumpy aren't you, Sir?"

Arbet forced his pistol into his holster and deflected, "We're in enemy country; don't forget what happened to Trooper Gerri."

"Aye," Egar muttered, "Shot in the back with his pants down, that's no way to die."

Arbet shoved his shaking hands into his pockets and asked, "Is the platoon ready?"

"Just waiting for you," Egar replied.

"Come on," Arbet declared striding off, "War won't wait forever."

Swiftly they made their way back to the Devilfish, where the squads were waiting. Arbet wasted not a moment to bustle inside and then hammered his fist on the driver's compartment before sticking his head out the top so no one could see his anxiety. With a smooth whine the transport set off, followed by four others and the three Piranhas. Arbet looked about and saw the majestic Kalcha Mountains climbing above him, their steep flanks covered in woods and the snow-capped tops gleaming in the hot sun.

The Brownshirts were running parallel to those mountains, headed in a rough line towards another ridge of the mountains that together described a 'V' shape. Between those ranges was a wide valley, though to call it such barely covered the vastness of the land. Rolling hills described the geography, covered in farmlands and paved roads. The Devilfish coasted over them all, smooth and untroubled and Arbet saw small farmsteads flash by as they cruised onwards.

The rushing air and sure power under his feet steadied his nerves and Arbet was able to enjoy the ride, forgetting his nightmares for a few moments. He let the wind tussle his hair and imagined the war was over, that the Imperium had been driven off and Maraha was freed. Yet his vision was interrupted as they crested the rise of a hill and saw the army before them.

Vast swathes of the valley were covered in marching regiments, Brownshirts slogging along with weary gazes. Here and there were tanks, chimeras and even the occasional Tau machine, but the vast majority were on foot. They were formed in regimental blocks, huge clumps of men thousands strong all headed in the same direction, while overhead swirling contrails described complicated knot works in the sky declarations that far above the aerial battle was already underway. They filled the valley side to side and stretched back as far as the eye could see, more men than Arbet could possibly count. Far ahead of these men lay the borders of the capital city itself, sitting smugly under the looming bulk of great dam. It looked proud and strong but Arbet knew that was a hollow boast, the city had no great walls or macrocannon batteries, merely a pitiful ring of trenches set between it and the closing army. The Brownshirts would sweep those defences aside with ease and take the city beyond, Arbet knew numbers such as this could not be resisted.

Swiftly the Devilfish closed upon a field tent, filled with busy vox operators and they were guided to a halt by stern looking armsmen. The guards watched suspiciously as the platoon dismounted, seemingly unimpressed by a mere lieutenant daring to approach but a voice called out from within, "Let them through!"

Arbet stepped smugly past the watching guards and found Colonel Westerfield pouring over a map table, the tent doing little to hold back the glaring sunshine. He saluted the leader of the rebels and noticed O'Dea lurking around the vox operators, but paid him no mind.

Westerfield straightened up and then said, "Glorious isn't it?"

"Sir?" Arbet uttered hesitantly.

"The Big Push," Westerfield exclaimed, "Here at last, the day of liberation is upon us!"

"That is good news," Arbet agreed, "A glorious day indeed."

Westerfield seemed jubilant as he said, "Look at that, the oldest city on Maraha, the place our forefathers first set foot upon this world. Look at that dam, the product of our people's blood and sweat and tears. It belongs to us, not the Imperials and I like to think our forefathers would be proud to see us reclaim it."

Behind Arbet Sergeant Egar muttered, "Only the little matter of an enemy army being in the way."

Westerfield grinned, "Ah, the honest wit of the footsore soldier, I do enjoy your sharp words. But remember who you're talking to… Sergeant."

Egar promptly shut up at the rebuke and Arbet stepped in to say, "How can we serve?"

O'Dea stepped forward at that and said, "The Imperials are digging in for their last stand. They seek to hold us off with trenches and artillery, but they must know they are outnumbered and outgunned. Any defiance will be short-lived."

Arbet's eyes narrowed as he said, "Sounds good… too good. This is a bad place to make a last stand, which raises the question why retreat here?"

Westerfield agreed, "Exactly my thoughts, in my experience when everything is going right it is usually a sign you're walking into a trap. The Imperials aren't stupid and they must have a strategy but the real wild card is the Space Marines; we don't know what they will do. You've had the most experience with them, I want your eyes on this."

Westerfield gestured at a map of the valley and Arbet stepped closer to examine it. Before him he could see the dispositions of the People's Army and the lines of defences set out like regicide pieces on a board. The formations were orderly and efficient, able to advance and withdraw on command. Unfortunately he had seen enough battles to know war was not a game, units didn't behave like pieces to be picked up and set down. When the firing started all those tidy formations would fall apart.

Arbet sighed, "Looks like a meat grinder to me."

Westerfield agreed, "A bloody slog into the teeth of prepared defences, but our numbers are still too great to resist. Plus we have friends in the right places, the Imperials aren't so secure as they would like to think."

O'Dea added, "Our recon parties have spotted Gue'ron'sha among the trenches, they seek to hold the outer perimeter."

"How many?" Arbet inquired.

"A handful, but we assume more are nearby," Westerfield added.

Arbet rubbed his chin and stared at the map, considering all he knew. Above all else he thought of the mutant, trying to picture that monster standing in a trench, next to good honest soldiers. It didn't seem right, the defenders would never tolerate such an abomination to stand among them, something was definitely off.

Westerfield looked at him and asked, "What are you thinking?"

Arbet didn't want to answer so fudged by saying, "This is all too neat and straightforward. When we fought them in the field they were masters of confusion and misdirection, never being where we expected them to be. They came at us from odd angles, using feints and lures to draw our eye. Like a Clanker-snake, rattling its tail to distract attention from its deadly fangs. We couldn't predict their moves at all, then just when we thought we had them, they withdrew."

Westerfield grinned and said, "I knew you'd see something we missed. What is your recommendation?"

Arbet's eye travelled over the map to the contours of the mountains and he stated, "I'd watch our flanks for counter attacks and not commit everything in one big rush."

Westerfield stated thoughtfully, "Assault plan Gamma-2 then, wear them down with successive waves, but keep a few forces to sweep the foothills clean. The last thing we want is an army coming to stab us in the back."

Suddenly Arbet declared, "My Platoon volunteers to guard the flanks!"

Westerfield blinked in surprise and stated, "I need you at the front."

"Sir, I think I can do the most good on the flank," Arbet insisted, "I know this foe, I know how they think."

"You smell an opportunity eh?" Westerfield said with a grin, "Very well, your Devilfish are bested suited for it anyway, you'll make short work of those goat trails."

Arbet nodded in acceptance but inside he was itching to be off. The mutant was in those hills, Arbet knew it in his bones. He would find the monster in those mountains and then this would all be over.


	23. Chapter 23

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 23**

Shells screamed into the sky, a barrage coming from the enemy line. A barrage of artillery shells headed towards the trenches with unstoppable momentum. They were deadly, they were numerous and they were headed this way. Chapter Master Coluber heard the shells closing but he was unmoved, standing proudly with his unhelmed head above the parapet of the trench. He would have presented the perfect target for any sniper but he wasn't close enough to the front to be targeted, in his mind there was bravado and then there was stupidity and he knew he was in no danger here.

Coluber glanced down into the trench where General Soza was crouched. He wore carapace armour and had a thin power sword sheathed at his hip. His hands were pressed to his ears with his mouth open to avoid pressure shock. Coluber tilted his brow and inquired, "Why are you ducking?"

Soza glanced upwards and mouthed, "Incoming."

Coluber snorted as he explained, "Those shells are targeted further down the line, you're quite safe here."

Sure enough the Astartes' enhanced senses proved true, the barrage hit the trenches further along, sending balls of fire into the sky and causing screams to arise as men were cut down in droves. Searing heat bloomed over the trenches but standing this far away all Coluber experienced was a shower of mud. His Neuroglottis detected the flavour of blood in the shower, signs that men had died but such was war and he dismissively brushed it off his pauldron, leaving dark smears over his proud colours as he remarked, "Light suppression fire only, nothing to worry about."

Soza wasn't listening, instead barking into a bulky vox-set on his adjutants back, "Counter-battery fire, now!"

From the city behind them Earthshaker batteries began to fire, lobbing shells at the closing rebels. The incoming fire soon shifted back to target the Imperial artillery, both sides trying to suppress the other's long-range guns. Coluber gave it no mind, his enhanced mind already calculating that they were effectively stalemated. Coluber wiped a muddy gauntlet on the shoulder of a militiaman, who looked equal parts irritated and awed to be touched by an Astartes, as he commented, "For all their Xeno corruption, these rebels are using strategies straight out of the Tactica Imperialis."

Soza looked up and said, "Can't argue with that, dull but proven strategies win more wars than foolhardy innovation. According to the Tactica next should come an airstrike… and here it is."

Coluber glanced upwards and saw waves of Marauder bombers closing, punching through the swirling dogfights above. Around them Manticore missiles shot upwards towards the distant specks and one Marauder was caught, tumbling from the sky with a wing blown clean off. Soza was already shouting into his vox, "Hydra batteries, prepare to engage."

Yet Coluber had a better plan, he switched vox frequencies and said, "Secundus air force, engage the bombers."

From the sky above a squadron of Lightning fighters broke away from the aerial battle, pouncing upon the lumbering bombers. These were the planes the Amber Vipers had seized from the Imperial reprisal army, put to far better use than mere mortals could hope envision. The Marauders were protected by strange Tau machines, nominally superior to Imperial planes but the pilots had never faced Transhumans before. The warriors of Secundus pushed their planes to tolerances no mere mortal could endure and skipped past the bewildered defenders before they could register what was happening, weapons blazing and missiles roaring. Marauder after Marauder fell from the sky, trailing fire and not a single one reached the trench lines to unload their bombs. A few turned back, racing for safety but Coluber paid them no mind, they were out of this fight for now.

Coluber took a moment to survey the defences, seeing cowering mortals and militia huddling in the trenches. They looked afraid and uncertain but the Guardsmen were Soza's problem and as for the militia he hardly expected them to be able to shoot straight anyway. They weren't important, this whole battle wasn't really, it was merely a distraction and a lure. Coluber's valiant defence was nothing but a sideshow, not that Soza knew that, the General had no idea as to the real plan.

Behind them lay the city, open and vulnerable. Governor Nugga was lurking somewhere back there, in a reinforced private bunker. He could sit out an orbital bombardment in that shelter, Coluber had made sure of it, he had gone to a lot of trouble to get Nugga to obey and wasn't going to let him get killed now. The Amber Viper's own base was fully packed up and evacuated; nothing of the Chapter would be risked save its combat units. Across the line of trenches Amber Vipers of the Primus Cohort were distributed. Soza had claimed this would bolster morale but Coluber's intentions had been more pragmatic, they would be the rapid response force, used to drive back the rebel's assaults. Speaking of which…

Coluber heard the tones of the barrage shift and he said, "Incoming fire, this time you should duck." He matched actions to words and lowered his head, jamming on his helm as he did so. Sure enough a second later the world erupted around them, shaking the ground with violent explosions. Fire and noise erupted at all quarters, enveloping them in the carnage. The trenches shook and mud slid off the walls to pool around their feet as the shells hammered down around them.

In moments the volley moved on, walking across the trenches and Coluber saw men groaning on the ground, throwing up and leaking blood from their ears. Yet the angle of the trench had held off the worst and the dead were few and far between. Soza was on his hands and knees, shaking his head in confusion but Coluber leapt to his feet and peeked over the lintel. A moment later he roared, "Here they come!"

Soza woozily rose to his feet but Coluber pushed him down saying, "Stay here and coordinate the defences."

"I won't be shamed again," Soza argued.

But Coluber growled, "You are of no use to me at the front, all you will do is slow me down. Stay here."

Coluber left him behind as he ran down the trench, he cut down a communication line, and bellowed, "Make a hole!" Men pressed themselves into the mud walls to allow his Ceramite clad bulk to pass and as he ran he drew Venom, the curved edge glinting in the smoky light. He sprinted towards the point where he could see a mass of brown bodies racing forward and as he did so he called in the vox, "Coluber to all units, imminent assault in sector seven, confirm nearest squad."

The vox crackled as a voice came back, it was Torvus and he said, "Sergeant Torvus to Coluber, we are in sector seven, ready, willing and eager to greet the scum."

Suddenly Ferrac's tones cut in, "Battle-Captain Ferrac here, I have my Assault Marines ready to go."

"Negative," Coluber stated, "You're my reserve force, this is only a probing thrust. Watch for other assaults, only intervene if necessary."

"Understood," Ferrac stated, "Kill a few Heretics for me."

"Gladly," Coluber snarled as he reached the front trench.

Here he found lines of men stepping forward to point weapons over the parapet, loomed over by nine Astartes in amber Ceramite. Sergeant Torvus was there, holding a bolter steadily over the lintel but he glanced at the Chapter Master and said, "My Lord, you should not be here. You are too valuable to lose to a stray shot."

"You concern is noted and it is right that you speak so, but I go where I will," Coluber stated as he stepped up to the edge, "I want to meet our enemy face to face, I haven't killed nearly enough scum to satisfy Venom's thirst."

Chuckles came over the vox as the Amber Vipers shared their lord's boisterous humour. Coluber saw the enemy were running forward with bayonets fixed, soon they would cross into weapons range. They were slowed by a line of razor wire but many men carried wooden duckboards and they threw them upon the wire, creating passages for their fellows. Stray shells hit among them but it was light and sporadic. They bobbed and weaved to avoid the worst and kept coming, their dead not slowing them down at all. It was a brutal and unimaginative strategy, spending lives with no regard for cost, exactly as the Imperium taught its men to fight.

Coluber lifted Venom high for all to see and cried, "Hold men of the Imperium! See the scum approach, arrogant and prideful. They think to sweep us aside with sheer numbers but they know not your hearts! You are the soldiers of the Emperor, the bravest souls in all creation, each one of you is worth ten of them! Show them your fury and drive them back, Ave Imperator!"

"Ave Imperator!" the Amber Vipers roared leading the cry which was taken up by the ranks of men, then the rebels closed into weapons range. First to fire were the Heavy Bolters, autocannons and Lascannons sweeping the lines of foes with deadly fire. Bodies were blown apart, men fell missing limbs or with heads blown clean off. Then the las rifles opened fire, streams of red energy stabbing out to punch into bodies and sear into flesh. Mixed in the volley were bursts of Bolter fire, tight triple-shots that cut men down with preternatural accuracy. Rebels were falling by the hundred now but they pressed on regardless, fired by adrenaline or more potent combat stimms Coluber didn't care to guess.

On the fire came, sweeping aside waves of rebels but more forced their way forward step by step, inching ever closer to the line, uncaring for losses as they scented blood, the thirst for victory overriding everything else. Coluber fired his bolt pistol into the packed ranks of foes, seeing brown uniforms being blown apart. His forces were decimating the rebels but so many were the foe that the assault was advancing regardless.

Coluber revelled in it; finally a righteous battle. No more quandaries or doubts to plague him, for a moment he didn't have to think about the price of battle, he didn't have to weigh the benefits against the blood spent. No more concerns about the future or the principles he was sacrificing to make that dream possible. There were only the weapons in his hands and the foe before him. This was what he had been made for and he wouldn't have traded this moment for a Strike Cruiser.

Torvus fired repeatedly as he shouted, "We can't hold them for long!"

Coluber saw he was right but held his tongue for a moment more. He watched the rebels closing, waiting for them to reach critical numbers. He held back until he could see the fury in their eyes and the spittle on their shouting lips and then he voxed, "Minefields… NOW!"

A second later the ground erupted before the trench, lines of remotely detonated mines blasting upwards. A whole swathe of the ground before the trench turned into a blizzard of flying shrapnel and cascading mud. A thousand rebels were caught in the blasts, turned into sprays of gore as their entire front wave enveloped in plumes of fire. The mines they used were directional anti-personnel devices, facing forward but in the madness of war shrapnel went everywhere. Coluber felt impacts pinging off his plate and he thanked its noble spirit for the stalwart protection. The mortal next to him wasn't so lucky, falling down as a red hot sliver of metal hit him, leaving a hole where his face used to be.

The rebel advance had been checked and cheers arose but Coluber gritted his teeth, that had merely been a probing thrust and he knew what would come next. Sure enough, he heard heavy grinding noises and peered over the parapet. Smoke and ash obscured his sight but his autosenses cut through it with ease, revealing looming, boxy shapes lumbering forward. They ploughed into the mad confusion, crushing bodies under their wide treads as fat barrel rotated in turret mounts. Leman Russ Tanks, charging into the fray.

Coluber knew the rebels had merely been testing his defences until now, this was the real assault. The tanks charged through the defender's fire, shrugging off heavy fire and in their wake hurried long lines of men, eager to spill blood. Coluber raised his sword once more and shouted, "Here they come men, fix your bayonets, death or glory awaits!"


	24. Chapter 24

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 24**

Coluber felt the world flying past, the rush of air registering over his armour's autosenses as he was flung away. Sky and ground became interchangeable, spinning around and over each other in a mad kaleidoscope. He saw muddy trenches and piles of dead strewn everywhere as he tumbled, almost flying in defiance of gravity. The cause of this had been the detonation of a battlecannon shell, the heavy ordnance blowing apart the section of trench he had been occupying. The mortals had all been ripped apart in the explosion while the shockwave had picked Coluber up and thrown him aside like a rag doll. Surely such force would have shattered human bone to powder but his physiology was enhanced with ceramic additives, hardening his bones in ways mortals couldn't comprehend.

Coluber hung in the air for a heartbeat and then the ground came up and slammed into his shoulder. The Chapter Master hit the muddy surface and skidded through it, carving a deep groove into the ground. His proud colours were smeared with filth but he was relieved to see that he had kept his grip upon Venom's hilt and not dishonoured his weapon's spirit. Pain thrummed through Coluber but he ignored it, his protesting muscles proving no match for his diamond hard will. He lurched upright, sitting on the muddy ground to see what was occurring.

In the moments he had been incapacitated the nearest Leman Russ had reached the trenches and was ploughing straight over the parapet. It was a brutal slab-sided machine, with the lumpy protrusions of sponson mounts and a squat turret. It was typical Imperial engineering but this machine bore not the holy Aquila but strange alien markings, declarations of allegiance to the filthy Xeno. Coluber was repulsed to see a noble machine defiled so and cursed the Heretic's base treachery. Those fools thought they fought for freedom but he knew better, he knew they were enslaving themselves to alien domination. They had sold out their species and so deserved only extermination, a fate Coluber fully intended to deliver.

The tank rode up high as its tracks mounted the parapet, revealing its blank underside, then it crashed down into the trench. For a moment it was pointed downwards but then the tracks caught the other side and it lifted back up, traversing the trench with contemptuous disdain. As it did so the sponson Heavy bolters thundered, raking the trench with fire. All the remaining mortal defenders collapsed in showers of blood as the rounds tore them to shreds and the tank carried on, headed for the next line.

Yet now Coluber was on his feet, charging at the lumbering behemoth. His boots churned the mud beneath him and he roared, "With me Brothers!" From the other side he saw Sergeant Torvus charging, followed by a pair of his squadmates, Xanath and Timbra bearing a flamer. The rest were absent, headed for the other tanks. The tank gunner saw them coming and the turret started to grind around, but slowly, far too slowly. The sponsons however were quicker and sprayed out rounds wildly in an attempt to hold back the Astartes.

Coluber heard his twin heartbeats thundering in his ears as he redoubled the pace, moving too fast to be targeted. The squad however was not so fortunate and Brother Xanath was caught by a burst of rounds, sawed in half at the waist to fall in two gory chunks. Coluber snarled to himself and blinked clicked an icon in his helm's vision, summoning an Apothecary, but his pace wavered not. His legs bunched and then in one mighty bound he leapt onto the sponson.

The tank ground to a halt and the weapons jerked to and fro, desperately trying to target him but they were helpless. Coluber strode confidently over to the turret hatch for these fools had pulled too far ahead of their infantry support, a blunder that would cost them dear. Coluber heard more thuds as Torvus and Brother Timbra climbed up behind him and then he raised Venom high and struck off the locks securing the hatch and kicked it upright. A fearful cry arose from within and a desperate las-pistol shot flew straight into the sky but Coluber had already stepped back. He grabbed a frag grenade from his belt and tossed it into the hatch, timing it to perfection so the crew wouldn't have time to throw it back out. A millisecond later the grenade detonated, filling the tank with deadly shrapnel and the machine ground to a halt, sitting dead and forlorn amid the trenches.

Coluber felt immense satisfaction at ending the threat but his triumph was short lived. A flurry of las-rounds struck the tank and his armour, explosive thermal exchanges making him rattle. It was the rebel's infantry support, finally arriving in the tank's wake. Too late to save it but still able to avenge it. They spilled into the trench with cries of feral rage, many of them letting loose shots at the warriors silhouetted on the tank's hull.

Mortal instincts would have been to duck and seek shelter but Torvus spun about and cried, "Burn the Heretics!" With that Brother Timbra lifted the barrel of his flamer and shot forth a plume of incandescent Promethium. The flaming liquid struck the packed ranks of foes, setting alight clothes and hair and clinging to flesh. Rebels screamed and flailed as they died, falling in droves to thrash in agony upon the ground. The flames kept coming, filling the trench with molten death, until a stray las-bolt flew out of nowhere and struck Timbra in the helm, punching through to blow out his brains.

Coluber roared as Timbra fell, his flamer tumbling over the side of the tank and he saw another wave of rebels charging forward, jumping over the dying fires. Coluber beheld their overwhelming numbers and their sharp bayonets but he was not afraid, he was exhilarated. Coluber's lips pulled back as he ran to meet them and he roared, "Cold hearts!"

Torvus followed, drawing a combat knife as he yelled, "And fast blades!"

Together they threw themselves off the tank into the packed masses of foes and met them blade to blade. Coluber smashed into the nearest man and the weight bowled the rebel over, shattering bones like he had been hit by a wrecking ball. The next rebel Coluber disembowelled with a low swipe of Venom's edge and then swept upwards, slicing a man's face off. Behind him Torvus followed, hacking and stabbing with less grace but still lethal precision.

Coluber's style favoured a hit and run approach, striking and withdrawing, only to return again but in the tight press of bodies he could not step away. Rebels piled on all sides, hacking and stabbing in a mad scrum, seeking to end the Amber Vipers with sheer brute force. Coluber was reduced to equal crudity, cleaving limbs like a butcher and using his fists and elbows where necessary. He felt a knife ram into a joint in his hip, letting blood flow and another work its way up under his pauldron, trying to penetrate his side. The Chapter Master lashed out wildly, smashing anyone who came near him. He was shattering everything within reach but the rebels were too many and he was being overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

Coluber fought on as he vox-called, "Sector seven is being overrun, we need reinforcements!"

Behind him Torvus gasped, "They won't reach us in time."

"Then the foe shall taste our wrath before the end!" Coluber roared but too late, for a rebel landed a lucky strike and plunged his bayonet into the Sergeant's knee, making him lurch and fall. Coluber roared as he swept Vemon about, clearing an inch of space. The rebels were driven off for a heartbeat but then came back with twice the fury, seeking to end him once and for all. Coluber however refused to be moved, standing over Torvus, protecting his injured Brother with resolute determination. The rebels piled in, pressing on all sides and Coluber knew the odds were turning against him, but if this was to be his end he swore to take as many of the foe with him as possible. Then he saw it, the dreaded sight of another tank, looming over the rebels as it turned towards him. Coluber saw the barrel depressing to target him and he steeled his soul for death.

Suddenly a new voice broke into the vox, a proud declaration that declaimed, "Strike from the skies Brothers!" Coluber instantly recognised it to be the voice of Ferrac and he knew that the tide was about to turn. An instant later eleven Amber-clad giants fell from on high, flames trailing from their roaring jump packs. They slammed down with colossal speed, causing the ground to tremble with the impacts, throwing rebels off their feet.

Clad in shining Ceramite Battle-Captain Ferrac bowed low on landing, storing inertia in his legs and then leaping forward like a coiled spring. His axe-rake described a mighty sweep before him and a half-dozen rebels went down, chewed to ribbons by the raging chain-teeth. His backwards swing impaled another man on the pick side and he lifted his boot to kick the corpse off.

A rebel tried to seize the moment but Ferrac casually lifted his fat gun and fired. Sledgehammer-guns were rare variants of bolt weapon, taken from the dead hands of the pirate clans of Cariga they traded muzzle velocity and explosive-tipped points for a highly potent and unstable propellant. The result was to exchange penetrating power for unbelievable kinetic force. The mortal's body folded up around the squat round as he flew backwards, flung away like he had been hit by a sledgehammer.

"Your doom is at hand!" Ferrac bellowed as he fired again and again. Around him the assault squad piled in, swinging hook-spears, chain-glaives and in once case an energised trident. These were the Brothers of Excelsiam Squad, the finest warriors of the Chapter. If Torvus squad could be considered Chapter Master's Honour Guard then Excelsiam squad were the Vanguard Veterans, the boldest and the fiercest of all Amber Vipers and the competitive rivalry between them was fierce indeed.

Coluber saw two Assault Marines straddling the tank, clamping melta bombs to its hull then leaping clear an instant before the detonations ripped the tank apart. The rebels were dumbfounded at the sight, they froze up, they wept or turned to run away and in that instant the Astartes had them. Furiously the Amber Vipers tore the rebels to shreds, gutting any within reach and driving the rest back out of the trench. With a moment's grace Coluber reached down and pulled Torvus to his feet before leaping into the fray, swinging Venom left and right. He found himself shoulder to shoulder with Ferrac and Coluber yelled, "Good timing!"

"I didn't want you hogging all the action!" Ferrac laughed as he decapitated a dumbfounded rebel.

Coluber laughed wildly as he slashed the throat of a crying Heretic and shouted, "Yes, too fine a battle to keep to oneself!"

Ferrac smashed his axe-rake into a screaming man's chest and exclaimed, "This is truly glorious!"

Men scrambled away, running as fast as their legs could carry them, dropping their weapons as they fled from the Angels of Death. Bolt-pistol rounds chased them, cutting many down before they finally got out of range. Coluber was left standing amid piles of broken and burnt bodies, his lungs heaved as his body fought to restore his vitality and his implants burned as they made good a score of cuts he hadn't noticed taking.

Coluber faced Ferrac, who was shaking gore of the chain-teeth of his weapon and he said, "My thanks, Brother."

"Worry not," Ferrac responded, "Nobody threatens the Master of the Amber Vipers while I draw breath: nobody."

Coluber nodded and saw Sergeant Excelsiam checking the dead, his energised trident held in both hands as he finished off any living foes. Excelsiam spied Sergeant Torvus limping along and called, "No need to thank us."

Torvus snorted, "Typical assault marines, always turning up late and stealing all the glory."

Both Sergeants laughed at the jest, even though they were knee deep in dead bodies and stinking gore. Coluber was glad their spirits were buoyant, this had been a good fight, yet he lifted his voice to say, "Focus Brothers, that was merely the first wave, more will be coming. Clear the way for the Apothecaries and bring in fresh mortals, then prepare for the Rite of the Dead. Make haste, the rebels will surely return."

The squads hastened to obey but Coluber turned to face the looming mountains and muttered to himself, "Hurry Reddam, move like the hounds of hell were upon you."


	25. Chapter 25

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 25**

They had been delayed again, it was infuriating, an outrage really but also unavoidable. Reddam gritted his teeth in frustration and his grip on the handlebars of his bike was so tight his knuckles turned white. The frosty mountain pricked at his exposed face but he ignored it, his attention fixed upon the lumbering bulk of the Deathstrike launcher.

The tracked vehicle was currently inching along a narrow road upon the mountain. To one side was a sheer wall, rising high, to the other a precipice that fell away in a jaw-dropping plunge. The Deathstrike was pressing hard up against the wall, scraping paint off its hull upon the rockface, but so narrow was the ledge that its left track was still sticking out a few inches over the drop. That was troubling enough but far more worrying was the wet rock, weak and unstable it was proving poor support for so weighty a machine.

Reddam heard a sharp crack and another lump of rock fell away, tumbling into the abyss below. The chattels surrounding the Deathstrike froze in shock and the driver's face went white with terror as the machine ground to a halt. But Nathanal ran up to the chattels shouting, "Don't just stand there you cretins! Get some more planks under those treads and put as much weight on the right side as you can to balance it!"

Reddam grimaced to himself and tried not to yell at them, knowing that the chattels couldn't possibly do any more than they were already doing. Still it was galling, for two days now they had been climbing into these mountains, taking the Deathstrike to the designated coordinates. Getting out of the base had been troubling enough, the squad forcibly clearing the route of witnesses so they could pass undetected, they had been harsh with those in their way but their orders were clear and Reddam had made sure nobody was actually killed.

Reddam had thought the hard part was over when they had reached the foothills but regrettably their troubles had only just begun. The road quickly turned into a muddy track, a narrow trail that switched back on itself repeatedly. The maps they had been given turned out to be hopelessly outdated, deviating wildly from reality, while unmapped forks kept trying to lead them astray. At one point the road had simply disappeared, forcing them to hack a route through thin pine woods until they had found the track again, several miles from where the charts said it would be. Reddam could have dealt with that, indeed his bike squad would hardly have been slowed, at all but the issues with the Deathstrike could not be ignored. It was a wide and ungainly machine, top-heavy and overloaded. The immense mass of the missile on its back made it sway over rough terrain like a sailing boat and every bump made it look like it was going to fall over. Its engine struggled to propel it up steep slopes and it left a trail a blind man could follow. The mortals weren't much better, wearied by two days without rest, they snatched naps on the hull where they could and were bleary from lack of sleep.

Vexed Reddam turned his eyes from the Deathstrike and looked outwards. He was currently sitting upon his bike, some way ahead of the missile system, where the road opened up again. From here he could see the stunning vistas of the mountains and the immense drop to a tiny ribbon of a river far below. Like a series of ridged steps the peaks descended, dropping into the valley of the city. He could see it all, the great dam and the shining reservoir it supported, the vast urban blight of the city, the rings of defences and the army moving to engulf it all. Reddam had seen some impressive things in his life; he had fought in the depths of space and across the surface of burning worlds. He had slit the throats of Traitor Marines under purple skies and driven across salt flats that covered whole continents, yet this sight would be one that stayed with him. The valley was filled with a homogenous mass of men, the rebel army in all its terrible majesty. A million men gathered in one place, a sight that would have loosened the bowels of any mortal. The idea that such an army could be defeated seemed laughable, yet that was exactly what Reddam was supposed to be doing.

Reddam saw Nathanal running back to his position and the mortal called, "We're ready!"

"Then what are you waiting for?" Reddam growled.

Nathanal nodded and waved the machine forward. With a faint rumble the Deathstrike began to inch along, the treads grinding as they stuck out over the drop. The chattels walked backwards, waving their hands to guide the machine as it moved. Rock and pebbles cascaded from beneath its weight, tumbling into the drop and the tip of the missile struck an overhanging protrusion, sheering off pebbles that clattered upon the hull like rain. The driver's face was a mask of terror but he did his duty and kept going. Then at last the Deathstrike was past the narrowest part and moved out into the welcome space of the wider road.

The mortals heaved sighs of relief as the missile was brought past the drop and swung to the side of the road and Reddam snarled, "Hurry up and get moving."

"Hold on," Nathanal said, "We had to unload a lot of weight, give us five minutes to reload."

"We don't have time for this," Reddam hissed, "We should have been at the launch site this morning."

Nathanal frowned and countered, "Won't do us much good if we get there and don't have any fuel to bless the missile. Five minutes, that's all we need."

Reddam sighed and sank back in his saddle as Nathanal waved the chattels to make haste. After a moment Nathanal turned back and said, "Quite a view isn't it?"

Reddam had nothing else to do so commented, "The rebel advance has begun, they will reach artillery range soon."

"Well yes, but I meant the mountains themselves," Nathanal replied, "Takes the breath away."

Reddam cocked his head and stated, "The terrain is rugged and the trees screen against aerial surveillance. A defensive force could hold off an attacker ten times its size here."

Nathanal scowled and uttered, "Are you being deliberately obtuse? I meant the aesthetic of the view, it's stunning."

"Oh," Reddam remarked, "I hadn't considered that."

Nathanal shook his head and said, "Decades living alongside Astartes and I still don't understand you. Have you no concept of beauty or of splendour?"

Reddam's sneered, "Your time standing alongside the Chapter Master has made you impudent, I would flagellate any other chattel for speaking so. But for your question, yes we do understand beauty, but it is secondary to martial concerns. Beauty is found in the edge of a fine blade, splendour is the sight of a banner held high in the midst of battle. We find perfection in the most elegant of kills, glory is to be found in the thick of the melee. War is what we are made for, nothing else stirs us so."

"I'm not sure your young charges would agree," Nathanal mused, "They seem a bit rough."

Reddam snorted loudly then said, "They have much to learn, and seem uninterested in doing so."

Nathanal asked with a frown, "Where are they anyway?"

Reddam explained, "Larus and Glord are guarding the rear, I sent Joffel and Kazao and Tebes on ahead to scout out our route. They should have been back by now, unless they are arguing again."

"Not gelling eh?" Nathanal inquired.

Wearily Reddam confessed, "Joffel can't stand to be around Kazao and his affliction. I had expected that shared danger would forge them into a unit but they refuse to see each other as comrades."

Nathanal sighed, "Maybe they're just a bad fit, sometimes people rub each other wrong."

Reddam was loath to admit it, it felt like failure but perhaps the mortal was right, bonds of Brotherhood could not be forced, they had to be forged in combat or not at all. Reddam was about to speak again but right then an echoing noise reverberated up the hills. It was a distant booming, repeated over and over, and it made heads turn to look about in confusion.

"Is that thunder?" Nathanal asked in confusion.

"No," Reddam snarled angrily, "That is artillery, the battle has begun!"

"Abaddon's balls!" Nathanal swore then shouted, "Right time's up, get that thing moving! No, I don't care about the scratches to the bloody paintwork, get moving now!"

Hastily the chattels leapt aboard the Deathstrike and it began to move once more. Reddam signalled the rearguard and a moment later Larus and Glord appeared, bouncing up the narrow pass. Glord called out, "What did we miss?"

Reddam started his engine and moved out as he replied, "Battle has started and we are behind schedule, we need to double-time!"

The bikes shot off, headed up the road as it climbed into the mountains, the sheer wall gave way to a steep slope while the drop off levelled out to become a thin pine wood. The air was tangy with the promise of frost but they weren't quite high enough yet to see snow. Thankfully they didn't have to reach the summit; their launch site was only about half-way up the slopes. Reddam gunned his engine and swept ahead of the Deathstrike, checking the road was clear. The way was smooth and unimpeded and he judged the machine could make good time on this surface, even with its straining engine.

He passed another undocumented fork in the road and then was brought up short as he spied their three Brothers coming back from the other direction. They all pulled up as the Sergeant called, "What kept you?"

Tebes spoke first, "We were scouting the route as ordered, the way to the launch site is clear."

Joffel broke in excitedly, "It's better than that, we found a short-cut!"

"Explain," Reddam barked impatiently.

Hastily Kazao elaborated, "The road takes several more turns but then it reaches a plateau, level ground all the way to the launch site. But if we go directly up the slope from here we can cut the time in half."

Reddam eyed the slope and said, "The Deathstrike will struggle over that terrain."

Joffel shook his head and countered, "It looks worse than it is, from the top it's obvious. Get it over that hump and were free and clear."

Reddam made a snap decision and said, "No time to argue, we will take the short-cut."

They waited a moment for the missile launcher to reach them and then waved it up the slope. The chattels looked concerned but Reddam was uncompromising and the machine moved on, grinding upwards on its tracks. Kazao took a moment to look out over the cliff and said, "That is a lot of rebels."

Larus glanced back and asked, "Can one missile really take out that many enemies? What's the blast range on a Vortex anyway?"

"Deathstrikes are revered relics for a reason," Reddam declared, "Trust me, they won't stand a chance."

There was a crunching noise from above and Reddam turned to see the missile launcher struggling to get over a bulge in the ground. For a heart-stopping moment he thought the engine lacked the power to clear it but then the nose got over the worst and the machine disappeared up the slope, vanishing behind a ridge.

"That's the worst bit," Kazao stated, "A clear run to the launch site now."

"Good," Reddam declared, "Let us…"

At that moment his auspex squawked loudly and Reddam's eyes snapped downward to see a trail of icons moving up behind them. They were in single file, following them up the trail and moving fast. Questions of how, why or whom, were shoved aside as Reddam reacted, spinning his back wheel around in a spray of mud and gravel to point his guns point back the way they had come. He held his thumb over the trigger for the bolters and yelled, "Ware, enemies behind!"

The squad followed suit, levelling a line of guns back down the road, preparing to greet these intruders with a blizzard of death. Yet what emerged before them was not what they expected. It was a sleek, rounded machine that hovered over the ground, propelled by two flanking engines on swivel mounts. It had a low hammerhead prow and a burst cannon hanging low, while two disc-like drones swivelled at each end. It was a Devilfish: the rebels had found them.


	26. Chapter 26

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 26**

The mutant was out there, Arbet could feel it as sure as the sun upon his face. The monster that haunted his nightmares was waiting for him, somewhere in the shadows, a beast in body and mind. Arbet knew it was coming for him; the confrontation was inevitable, all the old myths told him so. Hero against monster, man against beast, it had to be so, there was no other way it could end.

Arbet gripped his pulse pistol tightly as he slogged up the slopes, dashing from tree to tree. The thin pine woods covered the lower slopes of the mountain, cutting the hot sunlight into dazzling slats of light and dark. There were countless shadows in every direction, any of which could be hiding the mutant and the thought shredded his nerves. Behind him his platoon trudged on, sweeping the slope with their long pulse rifles as they searched for threats. Behind them came the Devilfish, floating serenely over the brambles and bushes. They had to avoid the densest clumps of trees but were making good time regardless. The Piranhas Arbet had dispatched ahead, to scout out the route and make sure they weren't surprised by an ambush.

Arbet didn't think they would find anything, the monsters wouldn't come at him so obviously. The mutant would creep on him in the dark, when his guard was down, it would take him when he least expected it. Arbet couldn't let that happen, he had to find it before it killed him and destroyed the world he loved. Arbet realised he was sweating, not from hearty exercise but with the cold clammy grip of fear. It wouldn't do, he had to compose himself, he had to be strong. Arbet stopped for a moment and breathed out, feeling his heart thundering in his chest. There was a sharp crack behind him and Arbet spun about as his stomach leapt into his throat. For a millisecond he saw scaled flesh, red eyes and the glint of claws but then his vision cleared and he saw it was only Egar. Arbet swallowed to calm his nerves and croaked, "Sergeant?"

Egar paused and looked him up and down then asked, "Sir, are you hale?"

Arbet realised his sweaty complexion and laboured breathing was making him look out of sorts and tried to cover by saying, "Its nothing, a steep hill climb is good for the stamina."

Egar frowned as he pressed, "Are you sure that's all this is?"

Arbet shook his head and said, "I am fighting fit and ready to go."

Egar glanced back to make sure nobody was listening then stepped in to say, "Lieutenant, the men are talking, about you and the mission. We have gone way past our patrol route already and they don't understand why."

Arbet realised his actions were causing doubt among the men, something an officer wasn't supposed to allow but he demurred, "I have my reasons, trust me."

Egar wasn't convinced and spoke, "Sir, we're exceeding orders, we were supposed to guard the flanks not go traipsing up and down every mountain in the range. What are we doing all the way out here?"

Arbet's guts churned but he covered by snapping, "The enemy is out there, I can smell them!"

A look of concern crossed Egar's face and he said, "You can what?"

"Turn of phrase," Arbet bluffed, "I know what I am doing, the monsters won't catch me off guard."

Egar was silent for a long moment then ventured in that careful tone Sergeants use when their officers are acting witless, "Sir… perhaps you'd be more secure in the Devilfish."

"No," Arbet growled, "I am in command here, we press on, that is an order."

With that Arbet turned and strode away, leaving the Sergeant to trail in his wake. He walked confidently but inside his mind was restlessly wrestling with his decision. He knew he wasn't acting right, his behaviour was making the men worried and he was losing their confidence. Egar was a good soul, he cared for the squad as if they were surrogates for his murdered sons but if even he was doubting the Lieutenant then was Arbet fit to lead? A small part of him thought about presenting himself as unfit for duty but the rest of him quashed the notion. The mutant was out there, he had to kill it, only when the monster was dead could he rest. Yes, he thought, when the deed was done he would stop.

Suddenly Arbet's vox bead squawked and a voice came in saying, "Trooper Jonas to platoon, come in."

That was the scouting Piranhas, the ones he had sent ahead and Arbet eagerly hit his vox and said, "Lieutenant Arbet here, report."

Jonas's voice came back, "Sir, we've found something. A large section of the wood has been levelled, someone came through here recently."

Arbet's heart leapt and he almost shouted, "Where are you?!"

Jones replied, "A kilometre ahead, straight on."

"Don't move," Arbet ordered, "We will come to you."

With that he leapt into a jog, forcing the platoon to run in his wake. He breathing was laboured but he was physically fit and only slightly winded as he reached the location. He broke out of the trees to find himself in a wide trail, one that had been hacked out of the woods. One glance was enough to see it was a straight line in the forest, a trail for something large to pass by and it had been cleared recently.

The piranha was floating ahead but Arbet stooped to examine the ground and said, "Tracks, caterpillar tracks left in the mud. Every thirteenth plate is marked with the Aquila."

Egar spat, "Imperials? Here?"

Behind him the platoon milled and Trooper Ganneth asked, "Why would they come all the way up here? We're miles from anywhere."

Arbet had not the slightest idea but the tingling in his palms told him he was on the right track, Confidently he declared, "This is what we've been looking for. They came here for a reason and it is up to us to stop them. We need to move fast now, mount up we need to move at top speed now."

Hurriedly the platoon boarded their Devilfish and Egar muttered, "Sorry for doubting you, Sir."

"Not an issue," Arbet replied distractedly as he pulled himself inside.

He stuck his head out of the top hatch as the Devilfish took off, following the trail in the woods. Arbet wondered why the Space Marines had left such an obvious trail behind them, and what they had been doing here, but such concerns were secondary. The mutant wasn't far away now, the confrontation was upon him and the final fight would soon be here.

Arbet scanned the route as they tore up the hillside, the skimmer vehicles not impeded at all by the slope. Within a few minutes they emerged from the wood onto a road and Arbet saw muddy tracks headed left, climbing up the mountain. "Left, go left!" Arbet shouted and the skimmers responded, flying up the road as they had no more obstacles to negotiate. The road blurred by under him and the wind tore at his face as they climbed. Forks and turns came and went, but the trail was obvious to see, the muddy track churned up by the passage of something immensely heavy. Faster and faster they went, leaving the foothills behind and ascending to the mountain proper.

Soon the land fell away and Arbet was treated to a stunning view of the distant valley, he could see the People's Liberation Army in all its glory and the city that lay before him. The wind stole sound from his ears but he saw flashes of light and fire and knew the battle had begun, the last stand of the Imperials was at hand and freedom loomed for all Maraha. It should have left him awed, but all he could think of was the fight before him, the death of the mutant and the end to all monsters.

Suddenly the road narrowed before him, closing so sharply the Devilfish had to slow down. The pass was too narrow to move fast and the skimmers had to go single file to get through. Arbet cursed every moment wasted but the transports easily made it through the gap, then they set off again. The Lieutenant grinned at their pace, with speed like this they would soon catch up. The Devilfish raced around a blind corner and before Arbet could even focus on the road ahead the Devilfish rang as something struck its prow. Reacting on instinct Arbet ducked under the lintel of the hatch but in the heartbeat he was exposed he saw a line of hefty bikes straddling the road, all pointed his way with bolters blazing. Arbet instantly realised that they had found the Space Marines; they had been waiting for him all along.

The Devilfish rang with hits, its prow taking a battering but the composite armour was far superior to merely human engineering and it held true. Arbet heard a whirr and then a second later the unmistakable sound of burst cannons firing, filling the air with deadly rounds. The hail of bolt fire ceased and the Lieutenant waited for cries of triumph from the driver but there was no such call and he poked his head out to see what was occurring.

What he saw amazed him, the Astartes hadn't waited to be shot at but neither had they retreated. They were headed right at him, closing the range faster than the drivers could compensate for and jinxing from left to right to avoid the sprays of fire. Arbet leapt up and shouted, "Take them down!" but the Astartes' reaction speed was blinding and before the Brownshirts could adapt to the unexpected move the Astartes were in among them. Arbet saw one of them flash by holding a lightning-shrouded spear in one hand. The Lieutenant gasped as he recognised that weapon, these were the same Space Marines as from before, his instincts had been right all along. The Space Marine drove relentlessly into the teeth of the fire, sparks flying from his bike's front cowling and as he flashed by he swung his blade and tore a deep furrow across the transport to the right. The Astartes flashed by, skidding hard to the right so to come up behind the Lieutenant's skimmer.

Arbet was about to call for covering fire but then he saw his worst fear made manifest. Bearing down upon him was a lone Space Marine whose head was hidden by a blank helmet, yet it was not enough to fool the Lieutenant. Arbet's eyes went wide as he saw the mutant at last, the being that had haunted him and stalked his nightmares. His heart thundered as he saw the terrible creature coming right at him, bearing down with a Grenade Launcher fixed to the front of his bike.

"Kill it, kill it!" Arbet yelled frantically but at the same moment the mutant fired, sending a Krak grenade flying at his Devilfish. Arbet was thrown forward as the grenade detonated, blasting a crater in the armoured prow. The kinetic energy sent the Devilfish skidding to one side, thrusters blazing as it attempted to compensate and Arbet was flung against the rim of his hatch, bruising his side as he fumbled with his pistol. He grabbed the weapon and fired it repeatedly at the moving target, he was rewarded with a crack of splintering Ceramite as he hit the side of the bike but then the mutant flashed past. The Lieutenant fired wildly over and over but couldn't get an angle and lost sight of his target. Then he felt the Devilfish spin under him and saw the rest doing the same, trying to target the looping bikes surrounding them.

"No, don't let them lead you!" he desperately shouted but it was too late. The transports were mixed up on the narrow road, caught in a jumble of prows and thrusters. They were getting in each other's way and unable to get a clear shot. Suddenly the spear-wielding Astartes shot out of the tangled confusion, racing away up the road. He was followed by the others, all of them racing away into the distance as the Devilfish banged up against each other. In seconds the Astartes had turned an orderly advance into a comical farce and then effected a withdrawal.

"Get back in line, they can't get away, pull up straight damn you!" Arbet yelled to get the transports sorted then as order returned he shouted, "Go, go, go! Get after them and send out the gun-drones and Piranhas. They tried to break us but failed, we've got them now."


	27. Chapter 27

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 27**

Shining blasts of energy flew by his head, each one a deadly bolt that could have obliterated his skull. They were coming in tight bursts of fire, from multiple angles and every shot chewed up the road before him. Reddam gritted his teeth as he jinked from left to right, the random manoeuvres all that was keeping him alive.

The source of this fire was a cloud of floating drones, each one with a pair of pulse rifles slung underneath. They were chasing the bike squad as they dashed up the road, firing at the backs of the Amber Vipers. Thankfully the simple machine minds could only fire in predictable patterns, which gave the squad the advantage of randomising their paths. Unfortunately this also had the net effect of slowing them down, meaning that the rebels themselves were catching up.

The encounter on the road seemed to have come as much as a surprise to the Heretics as it had to the Astartes. The rebels had been thrown into panicked confusion by the rapid counter-assault which had bought the Space Marines a fleetingly small window to withdraw. Reddam hated that fact, retreat sat ill with him, but the odds were against them, on open ground they were too badly outnumbered and they were far from safe yet. Another burst of fire blasted over his shoulder, charring the light ceramite pad and Reddam snarled, "Take those damned things out!"

From beside him Glord had detached his Heavy Bolter from the sidecar's rail and was firing backwards as he yelled, "What do you think I'm doing?!"

Reddam heard the chugging boom of the weapon and an electric whine as a drone was clipped, the incoming fire slackened slightly but the rest pressed on. Reddam focussed upon his evasions but as he did so Kazao shouted, "They're gaining on us!"

Reddam's lip curled but he spat, "At least have their attention and we need to keep it. They didn't see the Deathstrike and we have to lure them away from it."

Onwards the squad raced, struggling for speed but slowed by their evasions. The circling drones swooped around them like a carrion birds over a corpse, flitting about as they let off shots that chewed up the ground and ripped furrows into the mass of their bikes. Reddam snarled as he felt a round hit his thigh, punching through the meat to leave a bloody hole that wept blood. Pain lanced up his leg but he ignored it, the shot had ripped muscle and sinew but missed the bone, he could still function and nothing else mattered.

The culprit weaved in front him, angling for another shot but Reddam triggered his bolters and a hail of mass-reactives chased it off, making it fall behind the dashing bikes. It joined its compatriots to the rear, following with mechanical relentlessness. Another burst of fire nearly took out his rear tire but Reddam still heard Joffel calling, "This isn't working!"

Reddam knew he was right, the drones were manoeuvring to catch the squad in a crossfire, it was only a matter of time until they landed a fatal hit. The Sergeant accessed the situation and determined that defeat was certain, but experience told him that when in a no-win scenario one must change the scenario. Reddam shouted over the roar of his engines, "Squad, crazy adder manoeuvre on my mark… three two, one, mark!"

On the count they all slammed on their front brakes and swung hard to the right. Their bikes lost speed but their inertia sent the back tires skidding around, spraying mud and gravel everywhere in pluming arcs. In a heartbeat the bikes were sent into mad spins, sweeping around and so bringing their bolters to bear. As he held on to the careening bike Reddam twisted his aim upwards and as one the squad fired. Instantly a thunderous barrage of bolt-shells erupted, filling the air with flying death and creating a web of destruction.

Only transhumans could have performed this manoeuvre, only they had the reaction speed to adjust their aims and the sheer strength to hold their juddering bikes upright. In one second the squad had spun completely about and lashed the air with so many bolts that the pursuing drones were obliterated. Momentum kept them going, turning them three hundred and sixty degrees and at the perfect moment they gunned their engines and raced away from the carnage. This had taken three seconds, only three.

Reddam saw that Glord had almost been thrown from his sidecar and was pulling himself back upright with one hand. He heaved himself into his seat and spat, "Fang-rot, I see why its called 'crazy'."

Yet Reddam only barked, "Status on the rebels?"

Glord peered backwards and cried, "Closer than ever!"

Tersely Joffel called, "We should take them in melee!"

Reddam spat back, "Negative, this ground's too open, we would be overwhelmed. We need an advantage of our own!"

With that he gunned his engine and raced onwards, the muddy road flashing past under his wide treads. The surface was hardly suited for high speed but his reinforced bones took the shocks and were untroubled. He could have ridden for days like this but the rebels had no such concerns, their skimmer vehicles smoothly pursuing as if they were on a straight Ferrocrete road.

Suddenly Reddam saw a fork in the road ahead, one path headed right and level the other left and plunging down the mountainside. He wrenched his handlebars to the right and roared past, the rest of the squad following but it was heartbeat before he saw that not all of them had made the turn. A flash of umber told him one of the squad had gone left and was headed down the slope, it was Joffel and he was racing away from them.

Reddam hit his vox and called, "Dammit whelp, where are you going?!"

Joffel called back, "I'll lead some of them away from you!"

Reddam spat back, "This is no time for solo heroics, think of the squad."

"I am," Joffel declared, "I can split them up and tip the odds in your favour, we fight and die for our Brothers, you said."

Reddam cursed to himself, of all the sodding times for the blasted idiot to start listening. Yet his auspex told a different tale, for a pair of Devilfish and a Piranha had indeed veered off to chase him. Joffel had just cut the pursuing force in half, Reddam judged his chances of survival to be nil but he had just changed the odds for the rest of them. The lone warrior had sacrificed himself to save the group and as their leader Sergeant Reddam had to let him do so.

Reddam drew in a breath and said, "Fight hard, die proud."

"The only way I know," Joffel called and then he disappeared from view around a bend.

Reddam had no time to dwell for the remaining Devilfish accelerated after them, Burst cannons gleaming with deadly potential. The squad had survived so far through daring and the random fortunes of battle but that wouldn't last. So Reddam fled ever faster, climbing a steep rise before turning a hairpin corner to double back. He skidded around it at breakneck speed but then he spied something ahead. The road before him was levelling out, moving away from the sharp drop, now to the right, but to the left was the promised plateau he had been told about and it was covered in pine trees.

Instantly Reddam jerked his bike to the left and roared, "Get off the road, move into the trees!"

Larus argued, "They will slow us down."

Yet Reddam yelled, "Speed will not avail us but skill will!"

With that Reddam led the squad into the shadowy glades, his bike lurching as it rode over protruding roots and crushed tangles of underbrush. He gunned his engine and rode into the narrow confines, turning his world into strobing slats of sunlight and dark shadow. The ride became unbearably rough, threatening to shake him loose as the bike shuddered over fallen trunks and piles of leaves but Reddam relented not, pressing on as fast as he could.

He jerked to avoid a free-standing tree and called, "What are they doing?"

Glord looked back and shouted, "They're following us in but the trees slow them down, those idiots will never catch us under here!"

Tebes asked, "Then we shall withdraw?"

Reddam's lips pulled back over his teeth and he growled, "Negative: now we hold the advantage. Turn and engage Amber Vipers, broken formation, exploit the cover and make them rue the day they chose to tangle with us!"

With that the squad split up, each warrior circling around on his own path. Reddam jerked around a fallen bough, his tires ripping up clouds of dead pine needles in his wake as he circled back the way he had come. It was a difficult ride, even for him, he was moving at tremendous speed through the wood and trunks loomed everywhere as did random branches. No mere mortal could have reacted fast enough to avoid a fatal collision but Reddam weaved a path through the gaps, dodging low hanging branches and crushing brush under his heavy tires. The Sergeant ducked under a random branch and felt the twigs scrape at his neck but then he was past and found himself headed right at the rebel's position.

The Heretics were indeed slowed by the trees, the Devilfish unable to weave around the trunks as he had. Instead the men had poured out of their transports and were frantically trying to cover the angles with long pulse rifles, pointing them at every shadow save the one he was closing from. Behind them three Devilfish tried to find enough room to advance while above a pair of Piranhas were pushing into the canopy, trying to get above the forest and sight downwards. In Reddam's judgement the Heretics had made a tactical mistake, they should have circled the forest and tried to cut off any escape but they had become too fixated upon the pursuit itself and chased the Amber Vipers into an environment that offered them all the advantages. A blunder Reddam had not expected but was fully prepared to exploit.

Reddam hurtled at the knots of men and as he did so he saw them looking about in panic, their officer's shouting only causing more confusion. Reddam was mere seconds away now and yet they had not seen him, missing his approach entirely. The Sergeant grasped that the woods were echoing his engine's noise, the reverberations making it seem like scores of enemies were closing from all directions. The rebels were unable to discern reality from phantasm and were wide open for the kill, fear and panic more dangerous to them than any bolter could be right now. The realisation caused Reddam to take his hand from the bolter trigger and draw his spear from over his shoulder, then a second later he was among the Heretics, shining blade flashing.

Reddam tore through the middle of them and his arm felt a weighty impact as he ripped the head clean off a bewildered rebel. He did not wait to see the body fall but instead raced back into the shadows, chased by random pulse rifle fire. He disappeared into the darkness of the wood and yelled over his shoulder, "Death is among you!"

He heard the whine of thrusters and knew burst cannons would be trying to track him but he increased speed and vanished before the awkward transports could target him. Shouts rang in his wake as the rebels prepared to offer pursuit but then he heard the flat crump of a frag grenade going off and fresh screams arose. Reddam grinned, it seemed the rest of the squad were copying his tactic and the rebels did not know which way to turn. Explosions and fire bored in from random angles, each Brother firing into the packed masses of men before dashing away into the darkness. The rebels were the ones outmatched now and they milled about in panic, firing randomly into the darkness.

Reddam swung wide for another pass and as he did so he knew that the Heretics had no idea what they had walked into. They had thought to trap the Space Marines in the woods but in truth it was they who were trapped. Reddam grinned fiercely as he swore to teach them the depth of their mistake, they would soon learn to fear the vengeance of the Amber Vipers.


	28. Chapter 28

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 28**

Rebels filled the woods, frantic men milling everywhere in a state of panic. They ran in all directions, fleeing from shadows and phantasms that chased them. They tried to rally together in a safe spot but the roaring of engines was everywhere and there was no place they could go where it did not echo in their ears.

Racing through those woods Reddam saw their confusion and was pleased by it. In only a few passes his squad had broken up the tightly packed rebels and sent them scurrying. In the open the Heretics had been unbeatable but here in this place of darkness and fear the Astartes held all the advantages. Reddam skidded around a tree as a random shot flew past him. The Heretics were everywhere, firing randomly at anything they saw. It was the perfect environment for him to pick them off one by one but that was not his objective. Taking down the Heretics one man at a time would take too long, especially as he had ordered the squad to focus on bigger targets.

Reddam found himself riding right at a Devilfish, the large transport struggling to find a route past a knot of trees. A few rebels were guarding it with their long guns but they were all looking ahead, while the Sergeant had looped around and was approaching from the rear, unseen and undetected. He saw the thrusters twisting to and fro on either side of the machine and he knew what had to be done. Reddam lifted his bolter's aim and lined up on the machine. He waited half a second until the angle was perfect then he fired the bolters in a tight burst. Mass-reactive rounds spat from both barrels and traversed the distance in an instant, flying right up the exhaust of the Devilfish's right thruster. A moment later the engine exploded, tearing it apart in a fiery explosion. The skimmer fell the ground, its flank burying itself in the dirt as its left tried to push it along.

Reddam saw Heretics frantically wheeling about, trying to target him but before they could react he was already past, roaring off into the shadows. A spray of shots chased him but hit nothing save air as he raced away. A hanging branch lashed his face, leaving cuts over his visage but it was as nothing compared to the elation of his victory. A moment later he fled past another Devilfish, burning from end to end and he knew the rest of his squad was equally busy; the battle was turning in their favour.

Reddam saw a flash of umber in the dark and veered closer, it was Kazao jostling so hard he was nearly flung from the saddle. Reddam drifted around a tree and called, "I count two skimmers!"

Kazao shouted back, "The third one is ahead."

Reddam grinned and called, "With me, we'll take it together!"

With that the pair veered off, heading for the third Devilfish. Reddam saw its ochre hull through the trees and increased speed, hoping to take it by surprise. Unfortunately this time the transport was pointed right at them and the burst cannon was already firing. Reddam jinxed hard and heard the rounds striking something behind him, he had no time to look though, instead focussing ahead and lining up his bolters. The Devilfish presented an angled slab of composite armour to him, impervious to light fire but he spotted a minuscule vision block and lined up his sights. It was incredibly difficult, even for him, to line up the jostling bike on his target but he persevered and then fired.

A flurry of bolts hammered the area around the vision block and three of them struck it directly, shattering the material to spray the driver with razor-sharp shrapnel. A moment later Reddam heard the flat bag of a Grenade Launcher and the fat bulk of a frag round went through the gap, disappearing within. Reddam swerved hard to the right as a crump erupted from the Devilfish, the detonation killing the crew and wrecking the machine's controls. The Devilfish sank to the ground as the pair of Astartes raced away, fleeing the scene at top speed. Reddam glanced back to congratulate Kazao but was shocked to see the lad wrestling with his bike, swaying drunkenly from side to side.

"Are you hit?" Reddam shouted over the roar of the engine.

"That last burst damaged my steering," Kazao declared, "I think I'm losing fuel too."

"Fall-back," Reddam ordered, "Get out of here."

"I can still fight!" Kazao protested.

"You're no use like this," Reddam snarled, "Get out of the woods and wait for the rest of us."

Kazao complied, splitting off and disappearing from the fight. Reddam however focussed ahead and called on the vox, "Status report."

Tebes' voice came back, "Heretics fall before me in droves."

Glord came next, "We took out one of the smaller skimmers with the Heavy Bolter, be aware they like to come from above."

"Good," Reddam declared, "One more skimmer to go, keep sharp."

Reddam went silent as he glanced upwards, looking for the last Piranha. He pressed deeper into the wood, avoiding the rebels for long minutes as he searched for his prey, yet it was in fact the Piranha who found him. From nowhere a spray of burst cannon fire lashed out of the canopy and the two-man machine dove from above, matching his speed perfectly.

Reddam jinxed left and felt his bike shudder as the shots blew gaping craters into its exhausts. Reddam heard the engine's distress but he pushed it harder, overcoming its protestations with grim determination. The Piranha wailed loudly as it chased him through the wood, matching his velocity perfectly. Reddam had no time to turn and engage, he could only flee before his pursuer. He skidded around a tree and opened the throttle wide in an attempt to withdraw but the pilot was good and matched his move firing all the while. The pair shot into the darkness, the biker chased every inch of the way by burst cannon fire.

Reddam yanked his machine from left to right, avoiding deadly shots and trees with all his skill. The Piranha though did not relent, keeping right on his tail, determined to finish him once and for all. Reddam knew death was seconds away but that knowledge lent him preternatural clarity and total awareness of the environment. Suddenly a tree loomed in his vision and his hand flashed out, palm slapping the bare trunk even as he twisted his handlebars. Incredible torsion nearly ripped his arm from the socket and raw bark shredded his palm but with immense strength he spun the bike ninety degrees, making a turn that should have been impossible.

The chasing Piranha pilot didn't even have time to process that, and certainly couldn't have matched the move. He shot past the tree in a blur of movement and had barely begun to turn when he flew straight into a doughty trunk. The Piranha slammed into the tree at remarkable speed, throwing both men out as it crumpled around the bark and came to an instant stop. The pilots however kept going, smacking into the branches with bone-shattering momentum and snapping their necks instantly.

Reddam didn't bother to look back and pushed his bike harder, hurtling through the forest grinning all the while. By his reckoning the Heretics had lost all their transports and they certainly could not keep up with the bikes on foot. Reddam opened his vox again and called, "Squad form up and move out, we're done here."

"Acknowledged," came the voices of Larus, terse as ever.

Yet Tebes' voice came back, "Sergeant, enemies yet live."

Reddam rebuked him, "We have not the time to hunt down every last one. Remember always mission before self, we have left the Deathstrike alone too long already. The Heretics ability to keep up with us has been neutralised, we withdraw now."

With that Reddam veered towards a patch of light and in moments burst out of the constraining darkness into the brilliance of daytime. He found he had emerged from the wood on the cliff's edge, with the long road stretched out before him. It was exactly as they had left it save for one thing, Kazao's bike, lying forlornly on the side of the road, dripping oil and fuel from a score of pulse-shots. Reddam saw the wreckage of the bike, riddled with holes and his hearts went cold. He twisted his head about and looked for its rider and then he saw Kazao, at the cliff's edge where he was battling with another.

Kazao was badly wounded, his light armour in tatters and the flesh beneath crazed with blast marks. His helmet was cracked and his carapace punctured in many places. Set against him was a mortal man in brown fatigues, who had officer pins at his throat and a pulse-pistol in his hand. The pair were wrestling back and forth, trying to batter each other into submission.

In hand to hand combat Reddam would have favoured any Astartes over a mortal, except it was obvious that Kazao was badly wounded. Whatever had taken out his bike had left him reeling, his grip was weakening and he moved with a bad limp that slowed him down. A few minutes of rest would have made good his wounds but he clearly had enjoyed not the time to recover.

The officer, on the other hand, was fit and hale, experienced in combat and he knew how to fight to kill rather than hurt. There was more, a frantic desperation to the man, a need that drove him to the edge of insanity. A single second's glance told Reddam that this man cared not whether he lived or died, only that his foe was slain, the kind of berserk madness that could drive a man to do anything.

Reddam twisted his bike around and roared at the wrestling pair, determined to intervene but he was already too late. Before his eyes he saw the mortal lash out with his boot, driving Kazao's bulk back a step, giving him room to level his pulse pistol at the warrior's head. Reddam's thumb moved for his bolter trigger but Kazao had already reacted.

The wounded Astartes saw death coming for him and threw caution to the wind. He lowered his head and even as the officer's finger tightened on the trigger Kazao threw himself bodily into the man, bowling them both over. Momentum sent them both flying backwards and before Reddam's horrified eyes they both went flying off the cliff's edge.

"No!" Reddam yelled as he barrelled towards the spot, pulling up to the edge a moment after they had disappeared. He screeched to a halt and peered out, frantically scanning for his lost Brother. Below him the slope dropped away, a steep incline back down to the road they had come up. It was a hundred-metre drop down a jagged rockface, a bone-shattering fall that could break a fit Astartes, let alone a wounded one.

Reddam spied the Heretic officer, nestled in an outcropping of rocks some dozen metres down. He had rolled there and was sprawled in a broken heap. He might have lived, or he might not but Reddam didn't care, his eyes looking only for Kazao. Yet of the youth there was no sign, he had vanished among the jagged rocks. He could have fallen ten metres and be lying under a rock or he might have fallen a hundred and be lying dead in a shattered heap, Reddam had no way to know.

A loud roar announced Tebes, Glord and Larus pulling up behind him and he heard Glord call, "What happened?"

Reddam swallowed and said, "Kazao went over the edge."

"Quickly," Glord said, "We need to find him."

Yet Tebes countered, "We have not the time."

"Damn it," Glord spat, "We can't leave him to die!"

Larus however said, "He's dead already or as good as."

"You…" Glord began to say but Reddam cut in to say, "No, we can't stay."

Glord looked forlorn as he said, "But…"

"The mission comes first," Reddam spat angrily, "Mourn later, we must press on."

Glord looked like he was about to argue but then shouts rang out of the woods and Reddam knew the Heretics were pursuing on foot. He twisted his throttle and shot away, leading the squad away and leaving the battle behind. He led the survivors back to the road but inside he was seething, this mission had already cost him two Brothers, he would be damned if he let any more die this day.


	29. Chapter 29

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 29**

The outermost trench had held off three assaults before it fell, the second had held against two more before it was also overrun. Now the third was under heavy assault masses of men fighting furiously with bayonets and pistols. Mud encased everybody from head to toe and blood was on every surface as men hacked and stabbed in a furious scrum of hate-filled butchery. The Imperial army had inflicted heavy casualties on the rebels but so vast were the enemy's numbers that the outcome had never been in doubt.

For hours the war had ground on as the rebels had whittled away the defences but then they tired of playing games and sent in their elite warriors, equipped with alien weaponry. Coluber had fought ferociously every step of the way; his armour and Venom's edge thick with clotted blood. He had not the time to clean it, nor the inclination, the battle had been glorious and he bore the stains as marks of pride.

An artillery barrage flew overhead and exploded nearby, possibly from the rebels or maybe the Imperial Guard, it hardly mattered anymore. Bodies were flung in all directions and entrails showered down as Coluber sliced the head off a man with long pulse-rifle and shattered the hip of the next with a kick from his boot. Everywhere men struggled, fighting tooth and nail in the desperate struggle to survive. His squads had dispersed to meet the gravest threats but he saw Battle-Captain Ferrac wading through a crowd of rebels, his axe-rake carving them to ribbons.

Coluber moved to meet him, slicing open the backs of the Heretics until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Ferrac. The Battle-Captain shot a man at point blank range, causing him to fold up as he was flung away by the sheer kinetic force. Ferrac clamped his weapon onto his hip and cried, "I'm out of ammo!"

Coluber snipped off a berserk man's leg and shouted, "Then let us test their fury blade to blade!"

"Just the way I like it!" Ferrac bellowed as he threw himself into the fray.

Together the pair hacked and stabbed their way through the melee, cutting down all who came near. The Heretics fought well, for mortals, but they were no match for the Astartes in their armour. Deadly weapons cleaved flesh and mighty blows shattered skulls and in moments they had ended the fight, leaving none alive.

Ferrac looked for more foes to fight but Coluber was distracted as his vox hissed, "Chapter Master this is General Soza, I need you at my command post."

"I'm busy," Coluber snapped.

"It is critical that I speak with you," Soza implored.

"Very well," Coluber sighed, "Ferrac, you stay here, I need to speak to the General."

"I'm coming too," Ferac declared, "I'm not having you walking alone, without a guard."

"As you will," Coluber said, setting off at a brisk run, "Let us not waste time arguing."

Hastily the pair made their way through the battlefield, headed back into the secure trenches, they passed many wounded men but ignored them, knowing there would be countless more before this day was done. Soon Coluber strode up to the General's command position, now significantly further back than it had been. The man looked dishevelled and worn, tired out by the day's fighting and the look in his eyes told just how harrowing the battle had proved. Coluber was surprised to see Apothecary Shrios here too, but he supposed it was a good position for him to race forward to retrieve casualties when necessary.

Coluber strode up to the Guard General and barked, "Well, what is so urgent?"

Soza looked up at the towering Astartes but seemed unintimidated as he said, "The rebels advance on all fronts. We are being overrun."

Ferrac hefted his axe-rake over his shoulder and said, "You don't have to tell us that, we've seen it first hand."

Soza shook his head and elaborated, "The whole front is collapsing, we are about to be broken wide open. I need to start withdrawing units into the city itself."

"No," Coluber stated, "Do not retreat into the city, it is necessary to hold this line."

"Emperor's teeth!" the General swore, "You're committing us to a slaughter, we are going to die here."

"I said no," Coluber growled sternly.

Soza's lip curled but he icily stated, "Then I need to commit the reserves, the ones you left in the hills."

"Again no," Coluber replied, "They need to stay where they are."

"You!" Soza started but then he saw men's heads turning at the commander's argument and he hissed, "Not in front of the men, follow me."

The General turned and stomped away, and the trio of Astartes followed him. He led them out of earshot, into an empty supply post then spun on his heel and spat, "What game are you playing?!"

Shrios sounded irate as he spat, "You don't get to address us so."

Yet Soza looked livid as he barked, "From the start you've kept me in the dark, I've laid down the lives of my men for your strategy and you've given me nothing in return."

Coluber saw the Battle-Captain open his mouth but cut off Ferrac's angry retort by saying, "My strategy is well in hand. I have everything under control, you must trust that I know what I am doing and am steering us towards victory."

Soza shook his head and uttered, "Don't talk to me like a child, I understand the need to restrict operational information to those who need to know. But what I'm starting to think is that you have no plan at all. "

"There is a plan," Coluber rebuked him, "You are playing a vital part in it, I can't tell you more until the time is right but know that there is a plan in motion."

Soza looked like he was about to speak but suddenly a new explosion rang out, a sharp crack that carried over the battlefield. It was almost lost amid the thunder of the artillery and the screams of the dying but this one stood out for one reason, it had not come from among the trenches but from behind. Coluber turned slowly and looked back into the city, only to witness flames arising among the buildings. Detonations were erupting everywhere, igniting among the industrial and residential sectors indiscriminately. Snap-cracks resounded everywhere and the screams of men and women rang out, audible even over the din of battle.

Soza spun about in horror and cried, "The rebels, they're targeting the city!"

Coluber heard the man's desperate cry but refuted him by saying, "No, that was not an artillery bombardment. That came from amongst the buildings themselves, the rebels are already behind us."

"What?" Soza cried in disbelief, "How did they get past us?"

Coluber sniffed disdainfully, "They had agent provocateurs among the civilian population, laying in wait for the final battle. They must have been slipping them into position from the moment the war turned in their favour."

"But, but, but… the artillery, our airbases…" Soza gasped, unable to comprehend the scale of the calamity that had befallen them."

"All overrun," Coluber stated frankly, "This city is lost."

Ferrac looked at the fire raging across the city and remarked, "They're ahead of schedule, we weren't expecting them to move so soon."

Soza's face formed a picture of horrified realisation as he cried, "You… you knew this was going to happen?!"

Coluber lifted an eyebrow and answered, "Of course, was it not obvious? Their strategy was elementary and easy to predict."

Soza was going ashen-faced as he gasped, "How?"

"It was pathetically easy to spot," Shrios snorted as a warehouse went up in flames, "The whole planet rises up in rebellion save one city, is that at all likely? It was self-evident that the Heretics engineered it to be so, they must regard us as stupid to try such a simple ploy."

Ferrac stepped in and asked, "Shall we move to the final phase?"

"Indeed," Coluber replied, "Summon Viper's Bite and Poisoned Fang for immediate exfiltration. Order the squads to prepare for evacuation."

Shrios added, "We have walking wounded and slain Brothers. My servitors have collected the dead and they need to be evacuated too, else we will lose precious power armour suits."

"Worry not," Coluber reassured him, "Our fallen shall be the first to board."

"Wait!" came a sudden and fearful cry from Soza, "You're leaving?!"

"Yes," stated Coluber frankly, "The rebels surround us all fronts, this position is untenable."

Soza started to go red as he yelled, "You're abandoning us to die while you flee?!"

Coldly Coluber stated, "You can start a fighting withdrawal to the north, if you can reach high ground you may save up to ten or possibly fifteen percent of your fighting strength."

Soza face was scarlet now as he shouted, "You planned this! You knew this battle was unwinnable all along and you led us into the slaughterhouse anyway!"

Coluber fixed him with a stare and growled, "No, not unwinnable, but victory requires sacrifice and the Imperial Guard should be proud to lay down their lives in the Emperor's service. The plan worked, we have the rebels right where we want them."

Yet Soza spat vehemently, "You're selling the lives of my men to save yourselves, what kind of Astartes are you?"

Shrios stepped in to growl, "It was your failure that set all this in motion, we are here to clean up your mess. If you had done your job properly then none of this would have been necessary."

Coluber lifted a hand to cut him off and said, "The Heretics have played you for a fool General, you have been blind and ignorant. Yet you do not have to compound your error, you can yet salvage something, if you act quickly."

Soza was incensed beyond words and shouted, "You honourless curs! How dare you! You are no warriors, you are butchers and I won't let you get away with it!"

Coluber's eyes narrowed and he spake, "Choose your next words carefully, the lives of every man under your command rests upon this moment."

But Soza wasn't listening, he lifted his pistol to point straight at the Chapter Master and cried, "I'm dead already, the Commissariat will execute me no matter what, but I will die satisfied that you shall pay for this. I will not…"

Soza suddenly fell silent and still, his face forming a picture of surprise. The man stood there for a moment, then his head lowered to look at the sharp wedge of plasteel sticking out of his chest. It protruded clearly from his ribcage and his heart blood began to run down his front as he tried to understand what had happened. His lips moved but no sound came out then the life fled from his eyes and the pistol dropped from his slack fingers.

Coluber watched as Soza's corpse slid of the point of the axe-rake and then Ferrac shook blood off the weapon snarling, "Pathetic weakling, his unworthy blood dishonours my weapon's spirit."

"My thanks Battle-Captain," Coluber said in gratitude.

Ferrac lifted his head and proclaimed, "I told you, nobody threatens the Master of the Amber Vipers while I draw breath… nobody."

Shrios kicked the limp corpse and said, "How did such a weakling come to command an Imperial army?"

"Forget him, he does not deserve any consideration," Coluber said as he stepped over the body then voxed called, "All Thunderhawks, this is Coluber, we require evacuation immediately, aerial squadrons provide cover."

Ferrac joined him as two cruciform shapes fell from above and asked, "What of the city?"

"Irredeemably compromised by Traitors and Heretics," Coluber stated, "It is beyond saving."

"And the fighting men?" Ferrac inquired with no hint that he had a preference either way.

"They had their chance," Coluber said, "Their commanders were weak and diffident, we can expect no better from the rank and file. Leave them to tie up the rebels; they will die in the Emperor's service. Such is the fate of the Imperial Guard; better that than sit back and watch them fail, as their general did."

Shrios joined them and said, "A small sacrifice to ensure victory."

Coluber watched a gunship land before him and as the ramp lowered he stated, "But a worthy one, their noble sacrifice will be honoured. Now we only need Reddam to finish the job and end this war, the Emperor can sort out the loyal from the treacherous in the afterlife. Come Brothers, summon all squads, we are done here."

With that he led the Amber Vipers from the field of battle, abandoning the Imperial Guard to die in his wake.


	30. Chapter 30

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 30**

His bike chugged along beneath him, making a sorry sound in his ears. Reddam heard the forlorn tones and knew the machine's spirit was ailing, missing its compatriots as he missed his. It had been a hard mission, the loss of Joffel and Kazao being a steep price to pay, but it had been unavoidable, the mission had demanded their sacrifices and no Astartes would flinch from the cost of victory.

Ahead of him the mountainside had formed into a plateau, a ledge set about half-way up its slope. To one side the ground fell away down a steep bluff, looking out over the great valley and to the other the slopes resumed, climbing ever higher. Ahead of him the ground rose in a sharp ridge and glumly Reddam followed the tracks of the Deathstrike over it. Revealed beyond he found the Deathstrike, set up on a coarse patch of ground, steaming vapours from the nozzles of the thrusters. Around it clustered knots of chattels, half of them hurriedly digging a trench and an earthen bulwark some way from the missile. Reddam pulled up and ordered, "Wait here and stand guard," then leapt off his bike and jogged over to the location of Nathanal.

The Artisan was wearing elaborate vestments and bore a control wand in one hand, he was supervising efforts to prepare the missile but saw Reddam closing and called "There you are!"

"Are you ready?" Reddam snapped wasting not a moment.

Nathanal gestured as he answered, "All fuelled and prepped. Target coordinates have been entrusted to the Machine Spirit and all supplications are complete."

"Not a moment too soon," Reddam exclaimed, "The order to fire could come at any moment."

Nathanal ventured, "Not too soon I hope, the Chapter Master doesn't want to be anywhere near that city when this beauty goes off. I only wish I could see the rebel's faces when…"

Suddenly Reddam heard a shout and he cut off Nathanal with a raised palm as Tebes yelled, "Perimeter contact!"

Reddam was instantly in motion, running back to the waiting squad and calling, "Identify!"

"Unknown, we have no visual yet," Tebes replied, "But we can hear it."

Reddam heard it too for it was echoing up the trail, a throaty roar that was rapidly coming nearer. Tebes hefted his mining pick saying, "The Heretics have found us!"

"No, it's too low pitched," Reddam corrected him as he skidded to a halt, "That's a promethium engine."

All eyes turned to the wide plateau and they waited in eagerness to see who was closing. Reddam checked his vox but heard nothing, yet in his mind he had already formed a suspicion as to which individual this could be. He was proved partially correct for in the distance a hefty bike appeared, moving shakily as its weary rider sought to cross the plateau. It was Joffel with his fatigues torn and blood splattering his carapace armour. Reddam had suspected who it would be but what he had been wrong about was that Joffel wasn't alone, for riding on the pavilion was Kazao, slumped over his comrades' back. Reddam started in surprise as the wounded pair of Amber Viper rode nearer then pulled to a halt. Joffel weakly set his bike to stand while the limp form of Kazao was pulled off his seat by the hands of Glord and Larus.

Glord checked his vitals and proclaimed, "He looks half-dead but he's still breathing!"

Meanwhile Joffel slowly placed a loose fist over his hearts and said, "Reporting for duty, Sergeant."

Reddam could hardly believe his eyes and gasped, "How?"

Joffel sighed loudly and Reddam heard the weariness in his tone but the lad was still an Astartes and answered, "I led the rebel scum a merry chase up and down the hills. They almost got me, more than once, but eventually I gave them the slip. I was on my way back here when I saw Kazao dropping off a cliff."

Reddam stepped closer and said, "You picked him up, why?"

Joffel shrugged, "I wasn't sure it was the best idea to move him in that state but I couldn't leave him there for the Heretics to finish off."

Reddam gazed firmly at the youth and pressed, "But why? Why did you save him?"

Joffel blinked in surprise then muttered, "I… I don't know… it didn't even occur to me to leave him. The Heretics were everywhere, our differences seemed trivial set against their treachery. Beside I wasn't about to let that scum claim the life of a fellow Amber Viper."

Reddam saw the nascent thought forming but he needed the lad to say it out loud and probed, "So, what does he mean to you?"

Joffel looked confused but then a light clicked in his eyes and he exclaimed, "It means… he's my Brother."

Reddam smiled broadly and hit Joffel on the shoulder proclaiming, "Yes, we're all Brothers, bound by blood and common purpose. Took you long enough to see it but you proved yourself today and I am proud of you."

A discrete cough came from the rear and Reddam turned to see Nathanal standing there saying, "If I may interrupt, we have received the launch signal."

Reddam nodded and waved the squad to carry Kazao into the camp. They set him down gently to let his body rebuild itself as Reddam asked, "Is the Chapter Master clear?"

"Confirmed," Nathanal replied, "We can launch at any moment."

Reddam nodded solemnly and said, "Then, by all means, fire."

Nathanal turned away and checked everyone was safely behind the earthworks and then he lifted his control wand and began chanting in High Gothic. Reddam was unfamiliar with the liturgy the artisan spoke but he assumed it was something arcane appeasement to the Machine Spirits. Then with reverent slowness Nathanal pressed a rune on his wand. Instantly a mighty roar erupted from the Deathstrike and a fierce light erupted beneath it. The chattels ducked and pressed themselves into the dirt but Reddam watched as the squat missile began to spew flames out of its exhausts. A fiercely hot wind hit Reddam in the face but he watched as the rocket lifted off the launcher, moving straight upwards. Its first motions were comically slow, seeming to sit upon a tail of fire but then it suddenly accelerated, shooting straight upwards into the sky.

Clouds of dirt were blown into Reddam's eyes by the backdraft and he coughed as fine grit coated his throat but he waved his hands to clear his vision and stared upwards. The rocket had already become a tiny dot, retreating fast and growing ever smaller as it did so. Nathanal stood up and coughed loudly then said, "A successful launch."

Reddam was still staring upwards and said, "How high will it go?"

"Only a few miles," Nathanal answered, "It will be back in a minute."

Glord leapt to his feet and yipped, "Hurry up; I want to see it hit."

Hastily the party moved over to the bluffs, even the chattels not wanting to miss this. They gazed out over the valley below, seeing everything laid out before them. Yet Reddam's eyes were fixed upwards, tracking the tiny dot in the sky. Nathanal's mortal eyes couldn't see it anymore but he checked his control wand and said, "The Machine Spirit is seeking the target, it will be turning… now."

Indeed the tiny dot was changing direction, falling rapidly towards the ground. Gravity tugged it downwards but the rocket engines pushed it far faster and in moments it was hurtling at incredible speed. Reddam tracked its course, tracing its movement across the sky yet it was Larus who commented, "Wait… the trajectory is wrong."

Tebes concurred, "It will miss the rebel army entirely."

"We're not aiming for the Heretics," Reddam informed them briskly.

"We're not? Then what are we…" Glord began to say but then everybody's eyes tracked the missile's course and their gaze fell upon the unmistakable destination.

"The dam!" Joffel yelped in alarm, "It's going to take out the dam!"

"But… but why?" Glord asked in surprise.

Sternly Reddam growled, "One vortex bomb could not take out the whole rebel army on its own, but there was another way."

Suddenly Nathanal shouted, "No time to chat, here it comes!"

Far above the glowing ember of the missile was swelling in size, its speed was phenomenal, turning from a minuscule speck into a black slab-sided missile that ripped the sky asunder as it dropped at supersonic speeds. It fell from the heavens like an avenging thunderbolt, all the power of an orbital bombardment with none of the inevitable drift. Nobody had time to speak before the missile plummeted into the neck of the valley then it struck its target and detonated.

The missile was travelling so fast that it passed a hundred metres below the lip of the dam, flashing past the crenulations and watchtowers in a blur, before the detonation had any visible effect. Within the warhead's casing an obsidian flask broke open, a tiny vessel that contained a raw spark of the Immaterium. Creating this spark had required arcane sciences, whose mysteries stemmed from the Dark Age of Technology, and a dozen sacrificial Psykers. Through eldritch arts the spark had been summoned into the material universe, a feat that had cost the Psykers their lives to accomplish. Once made manifest the spark had been instantly bound with supremely complex wards and stasis barriers, to keep the unnatural energy separate from the real world. Detonating the warhead was therefore astonishingly easy; one simply had to break the wards.

The instant the wards failed the spark expanded outwards in all directions, spilling raw Warp energy into the Materium. Effervescent colours bloomed in a rainbow of unlight, but there was no beauty to this. They were turgid and vile, a stain that made one nauseous to look upon. Reality itself quivered as the polluting filth of the Warp was let loose, natural laws writhing in protest to create a storm of distortions and anomalies. Reality met unreality and there was only one possible result: spacetime tore, ripping like an old curtain and in the wake a rift formed. A sphere of pure darkness snapped into being, two hundred metres in diameter, a doorway to the Warp itself. Anything that touched the event horizon was pulled out of the Materium and spat into the Empyrean. Nothing escaped its hungry grasp; air and water, Ferrocrete and plasteel, light and heat, space and time, all were sucked into the yawning abyss that lay underneath the universe. While from those depths echoed the insane chittering of mankind's darkest nightmares made manifest.

For a single second the rift existed and then the laws of reality slammed back into place, erasing the rift as if it had never been. Normalcy returned except that now everything had changed. The great length of the dam suddenly had an immense hole in its flank, a perfect circle, two hundred metres wide drilled into the Ferrocrete of its structure. Such an edifice could have shrugged off an Atomonic explosion but the vortex bomb had cored through it like an old apple and from that gap burst forth a violent deluge of water. A vast outpouring of water breached structure of the dam, a torrent that spat out into mid-air and dropped away in a mighty waterfall. The sheer power of it was incredible, a mighty cataract that ripped apart anything it touched. Ferrocrete crumpled and ripped away in ever greater chunks, making the hole bigger and bigger. Unable to withstand the forces at play the structure of the dam began to give way, torn apart piece by piece as the vast reservoir found an unexpected release.

Far below tiny figures of men began to frantically run away, but those charged with maintaining the dam could not avoid what was coming. Vast cracks ran through the Ferrocrete surface, huge sections shattering to move freely as forces beyond those it was designed to endure ripped it apart. Then in one vast avalanche the centre of the dam collapsed, unleashing a moving mountain of water into the world beyond. Four trillion cubic feet of water burst out of confinement and thundered into the valley, a tsunami of earth-shattering force whose roar shook the foundations of the world.

High above Reddam's lips pulled back over his teeth as he watched the man-made catastrophe unfold and he whispered, "May you look upon our deeds Heretics and know this was done by our hand. Behold, your doom approaches and it shall teach you the meaning of despair."


	31. Chapter 31

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 31**

"Lieutenant, can you hear me?" came a gravelly voice. The words stirred Arbet's mind, bringing him back up to consciousness. Slowly Arbet opened his eyes and was dazzled by the blazing sun overhead, he squinted to shut out the worst and tried to make out his surroundings. It was then that the pain hit, a sharp stabbing sensation in his limbs accompanied by sickening nausea and a swirling rush to the head.

"Slowly," came the voice again, "You've had a nasty fall. I think your arm is broken and you have sprained your leg." Arbet blinked and waited for the world to stop spinning then he looked around and said, "Egar?"

The Sergeant's face swam into focus, the old man looking concerned as he peered into Arbet's eyes. The sergeant was not alone, he had a score of men in brown uniforms nearby, all watching with worried expressions. Arbet swallowed and asked, "What happened?"

Egar sighed, "Where to begin, the Space Marines ran rings around us, they tore us to shreds in the woods then hared off. We saw you fall off the cliff, thought you'd be dead for sure but you're lucky to have hit an outcropping, it saved your life. Getting you back up here was tricky but thankfully the other half of the platoon caught up, their Devilfish made it easy to rescue you."

Arbet sat up woozily and indeed saw a pair of transports sitting nearby, with one lone Piranha alongside. Arbet was sat on a stretcher, his legs splayed out before him, his left arm was in a sling but his right was hale and someone had put his pulse pistol back in its holster. They were back at the top of the bluffs, sitting on the road that wound higher into the mountains. It was a sorry sight, the remnants of the platoon gathered together but Arbet was not dismayed and exclaimed, "I got him!"

"Sir?" Egar asked warily.

"The mutant," Arbet declared, "I killed him, I got the mutant!"

Trooper Jonas was present and he said excitedly, "You killed one!"

Behind him Trooper Ganneth muttered, "Big whoop, one Space Marine."

Yet Arbet wasn't listening, the monster was dead, nothing else mattered. He didn't care about the rest of the Space Marines, they couldn't possibly be worse than that nightmare. He was free now, free of the terror and dark dreams that had plagued him. Arbet began to laugh fitfully, each motion sending stabs of pain into his left arm. Egar frowned and said, "Careful sir, you've knocked your head, I think you might be concussed."

Than Jonas asked, "What about the lot who got away?"

"We're in no shape to go chasing after them," Egar replied, "Better contact command and…"

Suddenly the mountain shook with a terrible roar and everybody looked about in confusion as something shot into the sky from nearby. "What was that?!" Egar shouted but Arbet's reply was snatched away as the cold hand of dread seized his heart. Everybody started shouting and pointing upwards but all Arbet could hear was mocking laughter as the terrible realisation crept over him that the nightmare had barely begun. The Space Marines had done something and like a bolt of lightning the understanding dawned that his victory over the mutant was irrelevant.

"Look, look at that!" Ganneth was shouting as something black fell from the sky, moving at tremendous velocity. It flashed past their eyes and dove into the valley before striking the front of the Kalcha dam. Arbet's jaw dropped as a sphere of blackness was conjured from nothing to rip a huge hole out of the edifice and then a moment later the dam began to crack apart. Men were shouting in denial as the dam crumbled but Arbet could only sit and watch in mute horror as the Ferrocrete was torn asunder and a moving peak of water surged into the narrow confines of the valley. The noise was incredible; a roar that made ears throb painfully and even here, high above, the clouds of moisture drenched every man head to toe.

The first tidal surge struck the walls of the valley and scoured them bare, ripping trees from the slopes and carrying away tons of loose rock. Avalanches of stone cascaded from on high but they disappeared into the torrent, swept away like pollen seeds in the wind. In moments the geography of the foothills was rewritten, changed forever by the imperious passage of the flood. Yet the disaster had barely begun. Egar sounded horrified as he gasped, "No… the city." Arbet saw what he meant, the water was not stopping but sweeping down the valley towards the unsuspecting city. The furthest edge touched the outer districts and swept over them without pausing. then the flood smashed into homes and industrial parks, surging through the smallest opening. Windows shattered under the mass of water and doors were ripped off their hinges as whole sections of the city were inundated in moments.

The surge of water swelled ever higher, fed by the vast reservoir set loose by the destruction of the dam. It rose high, reaching over ground floors to spill into first, second and third story levels. Ground cars and street lamps were snatched up, creating a deadly soup filled with metal shards that tore and gouged at anything it encountered. Nothing could stop the water; it flooded around any obstruction and surged over any barricade, reaching every inch of the city.

Many smaller buildings were engulfed entirely, collapsing in on themselves as their foundations were chewed to rubble, while the tallest and strongest were left gutted shells, hollow stands bereft of their contents. Spaceports, manufactorums, domiciles and commercial shops, none were spared, all were drowned in a tidal wave that came from nowhere and brushed aside any resistance. Arbet couldn't imagine how many people had died already and he tried not to see if any bodies were visible in the heaving floodwaters.

The water was no longer remotely blue, it was now a frothing sea of mud, brick-dust, metal shards and wooden splinters but it still moved with almighty power and terrifying speed. The water had overrun the city in moments then it spilled out of the urban conurbation and swept into the battlefield beyond. Tiny lines that were trenches were covered in heartbeats, the blood spent to take them made futile in a moment. Brave Brownshirts and desperate Imperials were obliterated with equal scorn, their enmity meaningless in the face of a force that cared nothing for allegiances or loyalties.

The flood swept over the trenches and left no sign that they were ever there, before it thundered on. It kicked aside tanks and armoured machines like children's toys, blocks of marching infantry were engulfed even as they turned to flee and static artillery was seized by the water and toppled over, long barrels disappearing into the frothing torrents. Here and there an ochre machine tried to fly above the devastation but they could not soar high enough and the wave swatted them out of the air, making a mockery of their vaunted skimmer ability. Nothing was spared; nothing could flee the calamity or avert the doom coming for them. The men watched on aghast as their army was obliterated before their eyes then Ganneth gasped, "Oh no... the Colonel." Arbet's eyes turned to the tiny dot of the Rebel's command tent, or at least the hill where he thought it had been. The tide of water had crested the hill, sweeping over the tiny mound with contemptuous ease. One moment there was a graceful ridge in the earth, the next a raw and excoriated island of mud amid a sea of devastation and Arbet knew the entire leadership of the People's Army had just been annihilated.

In barely a few minutes the green and pleasant valley had been turned into a scene of desolation. From foothill to foothill all was a quagmire of broken buildings and shattered ruins, surrounded by swirling waters that still gouged away at anything left standing. In the distance the furthest edge of the wave was headed down the valley, slowing slightly as it spread out between the foothills. Arbet knew there were other cites between the capital and the coast and for a moment he wondered if they could be warned in time but then he jeered at his own foolishness. What could anybody do to prevent such a calamity, what could any man do to avert the wrath of the Space Marines?

Soon all that was left was a scene of utter ruination, the city reduced to a scattering of broken spires, leaning drunkenly out of swamped streets. Broken buildings toppled over as their foundations failed and the land beyond was a swamp of mud, shattered debris and piled corpses. Arbet beheld it all, taking in every detail. In his mind he knew that he had just watched the death of his dreams and all he held dear. Everything that he had dedicated his life to had been washed away by the flood, crushing his reality as a man would a bug. His entire life had been rendered futile, nothing he had ever done mattered anymore: it was all gone.

Jonas was the first to speak, his voice hoarse as he croaked, "How… how many people lived here?"

Ganneth replied mechanically, "Two million in the capital, another million soldiers in the field."

Arbet gazed out on the vista of destruction with unfocused eyes and said, "I should have warned them…"

Egar's voice arose filled with confusion as he said, "Sir?"

Arbet didn't look at him but gazed out over the ruins of the valley as he said, "I should have told them to run, run and hide and pray the Imperium didn't notice them. The monsters were coming, horrors beyond their comprehension. I was fixated on only one of them, but in truth they are all monsters, more terrible and absolute than we can dare to dream. We thought we could fight them, but we never stood a chance, not against the kind of beings who would do something like this."

Egar sounded concerned as he muttered, "Lieutenant, you shouldn't talk like that."

But Arbet wasn't listening as he said, "I was a fool, I thought I could beat my nightmare but I was kidding myself. There wasn't just one monster, it was all of them. Monsters came from the stars and slaughtered us like cattle."

Jonas' voice broke in to say, "He's right, it's all over, we're beaten."

Egar spun about and barked, "Don't talk like that, we can rally the remainders of the Brownshirts. There are still men out there willing to fight!"

Yet Ganneth argued, "Don't be an idiot, save for some clerks and callow youths, all our fighting strength was in that valley. All our weapons and leadership are gone."

Jonas added, "Colonel Westerfield and that Tau O'Dea are dead and without them the war is over, Maraha is lost."

Egar growled at them, "Don't try that defeatist crap with me, we still have these guns. We can take to the mountains; fight a guerrilla campaign until the Tau send more aid."

Arbet snorted loudly, "You're dreaming, a score of men against the might of Imperium? The Tau won't come back; they don't squander their effort on lost causes."

Egar glared at him and snapped, "Lieutenant, you should be helping me rally the troops. Get your head on straight man!"

Arbet shrugged, "You do whatever you like; I'm done."

Egar spat, "That's coward's talk!"

Arbet however didn't rise to the challenge, he stared outwards and a sense of peace settled over him as he said, "This was inevitable, I should have known it. I was fooling myself to think we had a chance, but I can accept the truth now. The preachers were right; monsters are real. The Space Marines are monsters; they were made to be that way, because only monsters can fight monsters. We live in the tiny space between warring giants and either side could crush us without noticing. Well… I have had enough of it; I don't want to live in such a world anymore."

Egar started as he shouted, "No!"

But Arbet ignored him, he had accepted his fate and he had absolutely no doubts about what he was doing as he drew his weapon and shoved the barrel of the pulse pistol into his mouth and pulled the trigger. His eyes beheld the dazzling sunlight reflecting off the ruined city for a single moment before the contents of his skull were blown all over the landscape and death claimed him for its own.


	32. Chapter 32

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 32**

Venom's edge was slick with blood, a testimony to the lives it had claimed. Many foes had fallen to Venom's kiss in the fury of battle but this blood was not so gloriously won. This blood was insipid and weak, taken in the most workmanlike way, a chore rather than a contest of skill. It was shallow and lacked honour but it was necessary and Chapter Master Coluber would not flinch from the task at hand.

Coluber was moving through the ruins of the capital, seeking out surviving rebels. It was surprising that any could have withstood the calamity but humans were tenacious indeed and found ways to survive. Somehow a small percentage of his victims had endured the disaster, clinging to floating debris or simply lucky enough to be in a sheltered place. It mattered not, the Amber Vipers did not intend to let any Heretic escape their due punishment and they had returned to the ruins to make a clean sweep of the field.

Coluber spied a woman crawling away from him, dragging a broken leg and smearing her brown uniform with grime. Coluber strode nearer, his heavy footfalls squelching in the quagmire that had once been streets and boulevards. The woman heard him approaching and rolled over, her eyes went wide at the sight of him closing and she pleaded, "No, please mercy… I surrender, I surrender!" Coluber ignored her entreaties, his only response to chop off her head with a perfunctory swipe. The rebel fell into the slime and was instantly forgotten as Coluber strode on, seeking more survivors.

He fluttered Venom's power field to cleanse the unworthy blood from the noble blade and took in the scene. Around him lay the ruins of the capital, all broken spars and hollowed out ruins. The floodwaters had torn out the heart of the city and brought ruination on an epic scale but then they had receded, leaving the metropolis covered in slime and ooze. The smell of muck, decaying bodies and dank smoke was overwhelming, forcing its way into the nostrils but Coluber declined the impulse to don his helm, he would not turn his eyes from the consequences of his deeds. Coluber spied Excelsium squad moving through a building that had half-collapsed. They were brisk and eager and brief screams announced that their searches were most fruitful. Amongst them was Battle-Captain Ferrac, his axe-rake stained black with dried blood and the chained edge spraying gore from the spinning teeth. As he watched Ferrac pulled a twitching man from a pile of bricks, he suspended the man off the ground by one arm and then sawed the Heretic in half with one sweep of his weapon.

Coluber was satisfied with the progress of the cleanup and walked off, looking for more enemies. Further down the street he found Apothecary Shrios, whose white armour was smeared with filth up to the knees, he was stood still staring at a building in abstract contemplation. The structure was surprisingly intact, save for a riverboat that had been embedded into the second floor. It stuck out of the wall like a dart from a board, its prow buried deep within and the stern hanging in mid-air.

Coluber strode up to him and sheathed Venom as he called, "What are you doing?"

Shrios' face was thoughtful as he replied, "Trying to calculate the force required to do something like that. How did it get there?"

"The flood swept things all over the place," Coluber replied, "We're finding Heretics in every nook and cranny. Anyway, shouldn't you be working?"

Shrios replied dismissively, "Not much to do right now, the squads are all accounted for. Casualties have been sent to orbit and the gene-seed of the fallen has been harvested. The Rites of the Dead are private affairs, so here I am."

Coluber sighed as he inquired, "The final butcher's bill?"

Shrios replied, "Two snakelets from Teritius, five Brothers from Secundus and six from Primus. Three of them from Torvus squad alone."

Coluber nodded solemnly and remarked, "Thirteen Brothers slain, a high price, one we can ill-afford."

Shiros shook his head and explained, "I harvested the gene-seed of nine of them. A net gain overall, the Chapter will be stronger in the long run."

"If we can find recruits," Coluber stated, "What of the civilian casualties?"

"What of them?" Shrios asked blankly.

Coluber gestured around at the ruins and said, "We are not just finding Heretics here, there were civilians too. I am sending them to a refugee camp outside the city."

"Those weaklings are unworthy to join our ranks," Shrios muttered, "Leave them to rot."

"Careful," Coluber growled with narrowed eyes, "We should not be cruel or malicious, we do not revel in the suffering of the Emperor's subjects. Send them whatever aid we can, they will need food and blankets and medical aid to survive the coming days."

Shrios snorted, "We just destroyed their homes and livelihoods, I doubt they will welcome our aid."

"I don't care if they like it," Coluber commented, "See it is done."

Shrios obeyed by fiddle with his vox but Coluber was distracted by the sight of Governor Nugga approaching. The fat fool was waddling down the street, trying to keep the hem of his rich robes out of the filth. He looked pale in complexion and his face betrayed a nauseous urge to vomit but he was alive, Coluber had made sure of it. As soon as he had determined his strategy he had checked the Governor's private bunker to ensure it would be safe from the floods. He wasn't about to let Nugga die after all the work he had put into this world.

Coluber faced the man and called, "Governor Nugga, I see you came out of your bunker."

"You've got some nerve!" Nugga spat as he came to a halt, "Look at what you've done!"

Shrios glanced around and remarked, "Not visited a battlefield before? Trust me, victory is never pretty."

Nugga's jaw dropped and he cried, "Victory, is that what you call this disaster?! You've destroyed Maraha!"

"Not so," Coluber stated firmly, "The Heretics are destroyed and the rebellion is over. There are other cities in this world, order can be restored. I made sure half the Imperial reprisal army was safe on high ground, I have found a Major to lead them, a bit junior for my tastes but he has a lot to prove. Twenty-five thousand Guardsmen are moving out as we speak, to secure a new base of operations."

Yet Nugga wasn't placated and spat, "My fortune was stored here, a lifetime I spent accumulating treasure and it's all gone, all of it. I'm penniless, you've ruined me!"

Coluber's eyes narrowed and he said, "Are you more concerned about the damage to your world or your own loss of wealth?"

Nugga went red in the face and he lifted a finger as he shouted, "We had an agreement and you broke it!"

Suddenly there was a heavy thud as something weighty landed behind Nugga and the Governor spun about to see the towering figure of Battle-Captain Ferrac looming over him. His axe-rake was held over one shoulder, dripping with blood and his expression was most irate. Ferrac had dropped from a high window and now glared furiously at Nugga, his anger written all over his face.

Nugga hurriedly backed away but slammed into Coluber's breastplate and was brought to a halt. Ferrac stared at the man and hissed, "What does this worm say?"

"Nothing of import," Coluber answered as he took Nugga by the shoulder and turned him about, "Nugga, heed my words. I vowed to re-establish the Emperor's sovereignty over Maraha and to guarantee your rule and so I have, this world is yours to rule over. True, it will take some hard work on your part but I am sure you're ready for that. You will have to draw heavily upon your cronies own purses but in a few decades this world will be a shining beacon of Imperial Compliance."

Nugga shook his head and gasped, "You've turned me into a peasant, I will spend the rest of my life grubbing for scraps."

Coluber glared at him and said, "Cease your whining, you have a world to rebuild and I expect you to succeed. Make no mistake I shall be watching you from afar and when I return I expect to see a Governor labouring to rebuild his world, not a whelp crying over lost coinage. And just in case you're thinking of grabbing some loot and fleeing, I have spoken to the local merchant ships and told them any man who offers you passage will taste my wrath, there isn't a bribe large enough in the galaxy to make them cross me."

Nugga's swallowed nervously and then he spluttered, "I… I have got to go, there so much to be done!" With that he turned and waddled away, leaving the trio to shake their heads.

Shrios muttered, "You realise he will paint us as the foulest villains."

"Let him," Coluber stated, "I plan to be long gone by the time the Inquisition arrives."

Ferrac lifted a brow and said, "We're not coming back then?"

"Throne no," Coluber snorted, "This world has nothing more for us, we shall move on."

Shrios looked thoughtful and mused, "Maybe we shouldn't go… this world is open for the taking. Think about it, we could easily overthrow Nugga and claim this planet as our new homeworld. After all, these weak mortals should be bowing before us in gratitude."

Coluber saw the expression on the Apothecary's face and knew he was completely earnest, then before he knew it his fist had closed into a ball and was hurtling into Shrios' face. The blow caught him on the chin and sent the Apothecary staggering back, one hand held to his face.

Shrios blinked and spat, "What was that for?!"

Coluber was quivering with fury and he growled, "Never speak such iniquity in front of me."

Anger bubbled in Shrios' eyes as he spat, "That's nothing compared to what you've done!"

Coluber hissed back, "Do you think I take pleasure in this? Three million lives died at my order, it is a tragedy, a discredit upon our record. If there had been any other way, any other option, I would have taken it. War is harsh and unforgiving but I do not revel in slaughter, nor do I set myself up as king over the masses."

"You hypocritical…" Shrios began to say.

Then Ferrac stepped in to say, "We are Brothers and have been to hell and back together but tempers are fraying and rash words lead to regrettable deeds. Go tend to your duty, come back when you can speak civilly."

Shrios glared at them but then bowed perfunctorily and strode off, resentment shimmering off him. Coluber watched him go with a stern expression but as soon as Shrios was out of sight his visage cracked and he sighed, "Emperor Wept, what are we becoming?"

Ferrac stepped closer and implored, "My friend, you cannot allow doubt to taint your thoughts."

Coluber touched a crumbling wall gently and muttered, "Many will agree with Shrios but how could I ever bear to gaze upon this world after what I have done?"

Ferrac placed a hand on his shoulder pad and said, "You did what was necessary, what had to be done. This planet was lost before we even arrived; no other strategy could have succeeded."

"I seem to recall you saying differently," Coluber muttered.

Ferrac shook his head and said, "I was wrong, there I said it. I wanted triumph and laurels, blood and glory. It might have worked, but it would have been the end of the Amber Vipers, we would have been left exhausted and broken. Truthfully, I can seek glory only because you are there to make the hard choices, to weigh factors I could never understand. You saved a world today and you shall do so again and again in the future."

Coluber looked up and said, "What truly worries me is the recruits, what are we teaching our younger Brethren? Honour and integrity, if we tell them these things can be compromised then who will they become when the last of the Old Seventeen die?"

"Well there's a simple answer to that," Ferrac said with a smile, "Don't die."

Coluber let out a chuckle and said, "Aye, you always have the good advice. One day we shall be a whole Chapter and can know honour, until then we must stay the course and do what is necessary."

"Come on then," Ferrac said, "Let us finish here and get back to the stars."

Yet Coluber lingered a moment longer and whispered, "One day, one day we shall be who we were meant to be. This I swear."

 _*Follow story for future Amber Vipers tales*_


	33. Chapter 33

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 33**

Space stretched out into infinity, extending in every direction imaginable. The spackled backdrop of stars was cold and constant, unfiltered by the light of an atmosphere so they did not glitter or wane. There was no sunlight in this place, no burning star to warm a planet. In fact there were no planets or moons, no asteroids or comets on their eternal wanderings. There was only coldness, emptiness, vacuum and also the drift.

Sitting alone in the infinite black dwelt a ramshackle space station, formed out bits of broken starships and twisted wreckage. It was an ugly thing, with various ships jammed into its frame at random angles. Engines and prows stuck out like pins in a cushion, no two alike in form or origin. There were the straight lines of Imperial construction, the jumbled mess of Ork workmanship, the angular touch of Fra'al hands, Kroot curves and Borlac bluntness, all layered over each other. In some ways it resembled a Space Hulk, but it was far too small and frail for such a title. It was a drift, born out of dumped wreckage, it seemed laughable that this place existed, let alone support life but it certainly did so.

Nestled in the broken spars of alien ships a community existed, thousands of lifeforms all working together. They were human in form, though they owed no allegiance to the Golden Throne of Terra. They cared nothing for history or the deeds of their ancestors or the wider universe. Only three things did they know for sure, first that their home existed in a nexus of bail-shafts, those strange funnels that spat unwary travellers out of the Empyrean. Second that they preyed upon these broken wrecks for subsistence, fresh parts for their drift and slaves. Third and most importantly, that they lived under the cruel lash of Deorra, the Buccaneer Queen. None could remember where she had come from or how she had risen to power, the throats of all those who would dare speak of such things being cut on her order. Deorra saw further than her compatriots, she had vision and ambitions beyond this feeble drift. She gazed upon the stars with greedy eyes and craved lordship over them. By her will a small fleet of frigates was refurbished and the pirates began to strike out from their base, crossing the warp to take passing shipping in nearby Imperial systems and drag them back to their den.

Today one such prize was being brought into dock, a small transport ship edging into the welcoming arms of the drift. Two massive piers bracketed it on either side and from them extended docking capillaries, airtight metal tubes closing upon the waiting airlocks and cargo bays. The captured vessel had been eagerly anticipated and in the docking capillaries were hundreds of pirates. The filthy mass of men and women were dressed in work clothes and stolen uniforms, without concern for rank or insignia. Authority among them was denoted not by gold braiding or rank pins but by thick clubs and shock-mauls, command falling to the ones with the strength and will to enforce their rule. Deorra kept her pirates in line by fear of her violent wrath and the promise that they could keep whatever they could loot. To the crew of the captured ship no consideration was given, save that the drift's stockpile of slaves was about to increase.

The docking capillaries made contact with the cargo ship and all eyes looked forward in anticipation as the broad hatch began to rise, revealing the dark interior of the ship. The pirates expected their compatriots to greet them, those who had captured the ship, they expected booty and spoils aplenty and an easy mark. What they did not expect was to be greeted by a deep and angry growl, followed by a hail of bolt-rounds.

Horizontal tracers scythed out of the opening doors, cutting down the pirates in droves. Bodies fell in showers of viscera as mass-reactive rounds detonated within them, the micro-rockets tearing human beings to shreds. The pirates screamed in panic at seeing their fellows drop in bloody heaps of gore. They had all killed before, often up close and bloodily with knives and clubs, but this was different, a merciless swathe of firepower that decimated them utterly. The pirate's discipline fell apart, they turned and they ran from the carnage, but they did not get for, for fifteen bikes emerged from the dark hold of the ship, racing into the docking capillary with bolters roaring. At their head rode a Transhuman Space Marine in amber scout-armour, a grizzled veteran of countless wars. His face was a testament to endless battle and upon his back was a shining power spear, held ready for when the fighting got close and bloody. He was Sergeant Reddam of the Amber Vipers and he was shouting, "Sergeant Fardaw, take your squad up the left flank, Sergeant Beirut, take the right. My squad shall follow me up the centre. Move fast, we must cross the span before they seal the far end!"

The other squads peeled off, following the orders of their senior leader. Reddam however had no time to observe their progress, for the swift passage of his bike had taken him into the crowd of panicking pirates. He gripped his handlebars tighter and revved the throttle open as he dove amongst them, smashing bodily into them. A massive impact slammed through the bike's frame, nearly throwing him from his saddle but his strength was beyond human and his machine's Spirit was as fearsome as he. Filthy men and women died under his wide tracks with snapped limbs and crushed chests. Blood sprayed up his legs as he ploughed through them, accompanied by the familiar tang of salt-iron in the air as rich lifeblood gushed out of broken bodies. Wails of distress and cries of pain rang in his ears but he ignored them, these were nought but Heretics, renegade scum who defied the righteous sovereignty of the Golden Throne. They deserved nothing but his contempt and he showed them only his wrath.

Behind him his squad followed in his wake, their bikes carving paths through the crowd. Eager Joffel roared, "These wretches are frail foes, they cannot match us!"

Dour Tebes called from his own bike, "Doom is upon them for we are death."

Reddam snarled as his bike crashed into a knot of fleeing men, feeling a body crash into his left shoulder and rock him to the side. He only kept his balance through centuries of experience and he roared, "Glord, clear our path!"

Slightly off to one side was an attack bike with a sidecar, whose occupant was letting off bursts from his heavy bolter as he cried, "What do you think I'm doing?!"

Larus, his driver snapped, "Do it faster!"

Reddam gritted his teeth as the squad forged a path of blood into the docking capillary, cutting down scores of pirates as they did so. He lamented every second devoted to breaking through the lines, even though these scum presented no threat they were slowing him down. Precious seconds were being wasted here, time that the pirates could use to respond to the unexpected attack. Reddam couldn't let that happen, they had to get into the drift before the other end of the docking capillary could be sealed. He was also determined to reach his objective before the other attack parties of Secundus Cohort could achieve theirs. Half a dozen docking capillaries were being penetrated right now and he had sworn to be the first into the enemy's home. His squad's pride was on the line and he was determined not to fail.

Suddenly the crowd parted before them, the pirate scum finally falling away and leaving the way open. Reddam grinned as he saw two miles of uninterrupted corridor opening up, over a hundred metres wide and nearly as high. The walls were thin, by void ship standards, little more than flexible plating but it was enough to stop a bolt round, they wouldn't have to worry about venting the corridor and so could fire freely. The two other squads were still wading through the scum so Reddam's squad were the first to break free. Opportunity beckoned Reddam on and he yelled, "Faster Amber Vipers, faster!"

The squad's bikes roared as they leapt clear of the carnage they had created and sped down the docking capillary, accelerating with tremendous velocity. The walls blurred past as Reddam put his head down and gunned his engine, praying for the Machine God to bless his mount with speed. His bike's spirit responded to his entries, reaching maximum velocity in a heartbeat and his eyes fixed upon the far end, which was growing ever bigger in his eyes. A large gate loomed before them, opening and inviting, but before that entry was gathering a knot of men and women. These were different to the scum they had left dying in their wake, wearing stolen carapace armour and carrying auto-rifles and shotguns. Some form of elite guard of the Buccaneer Queen, her most disciplined and brutal of underlings. They thought to block the Amber Viper's route, but Reddam was not daunted for the fools hadn't thought to close the gate. They thought they could hold against the might of the Space Marines, a notion he was about to dispel.

"Glord!" he shouted but the Brother was already firing, sweeping his Heavy Bolter back and forth. Pirates went down screaming as the hail cut them apart but not enough, not nearly enough. The pirate's elite guard held firm in the face of the oncoming storm and their rifles let fly. Reddam instinctively jinked as fat rounds passed near to him, hearing their whistling in his ears as they flew into the distance. One smashed into the faring of his bike and he grimaced as shrapnel flew forth, peppering his face with flecks of red-hot metal. Pain stabbed sharp claws into his head but Reddam wavered not, pain was nothing but an illusion and he saw clearly as the pirates raised shotguns, preparing to fire. The combined volley would surely end them, even they could not withstand such a volley, but Reddam ordered, "Kazao!"

One Brother responded, his mutated face hidden by a stormtrooper's helmet. His blank visor gave nothing away but his wrath was evident as the grenade launcher built into his bike's cowling popped, sending a Frag grenade sailing into the packed enemy. The round spun serenely for a moment then exploded, killing half a dozen pirates and spraying shrapnel everywhere. The pirates were not like Space Marines, they feared pain and death, and twenty more went down clutching at their arms and chests, where shrapnel had violated their bodies but not killed them. Yet a hole had been blown in their lines and the Amber Vipers dove in, disdaining their bolters as they closed into combat range.

Reddam's hand lifted from his handlebar and he drew his power spear one-handed over his shoulder, activating its blazing field a heartbeat before they crashed home. Reddam swung his spear point about and cleaved a man in half with his first strike. His bike shuddered at the impact and this time it cost him precious speed, but this foe was more stern than the earlier rabble, they piled in, swinging shotgun butts and hacking with bayonets. A press of bodies surrounded Reddam but he fought back with all his ferocity. His spear flashed and tore, sundering simple carapace plate like it was parchment. Pirates fell before him in swathes as he forced his bike into their midst, wading towards the gate even as he shouted, "Die Heretic filth!"

A man with a bayonet was decapitated by the spear before he could strike, another with a hooked-clawed pike fell with his guts spilling out. Another had his neck snapped by the haft of the spear and another was pierced through the heart by a certain thrust. Reddam was reaping a fearful tally, but he was not invincible, not without the blessing of power armour. A pirate came at him from the off-side, stabbing with a bayonet. Reddam snarled as the blade pierced his side, letting transhuman blood flow, but he reacted with blinding speed, swinging his spear across his body to club the man to the ground with its butt.

His Brothers fought with equal fury, Joffel joyfully swinging a bonesword carved out a Hormaguant's claw to cutthroats and lop off arms. Tebes laid about with a heavy mining pick, wielding it one-handed as effectively as a man using both. Larus had a poisoned knife in his hand and left a trail of convulsing pirates in his wake, dying as their lungs filled with bloody fluid. Glord was firing his heavy bolter at point-blank range, covering himself in blood, so that his heraldic colours couldn't be seen. Only Kazao was fighting bare-handed, his grenade launched unsuitable for melee, still his fists were deadly weapons in their own right and he snapped bones with every punch.

The pirate's numbers were thinning and Reddam felt the press around him falling away. The enemy had been decimated, proving no match for the Amber Vipers in close combat and in moments they were all dead or dying. Reddam grinned as the last of them were cut down, leaving the way open. The gate into the drift was at last undefended and the passage leading into the heart of the drift belonged to the Space Marines.

Reddam gunned his throttle and hurtled towards the gate as he bellowed, "Follow me, Brothers!"

"First into the base," Joffel called triumphantly, "First glory goes to the squad!"

"Focus," Reddam snarled, "We're not done yet. Strike hard and show no mercy. Cold hearts!"

"And fast blades!" the squad yelled in response as they drove into the pirate's den, a knife plunging into the heart of them.


	34. Chapter 34

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 34**

The drift wailed in alarm as its perimeter was violated, racing bike squads tearing through its outer districts. Never in its sordid history had a foe challenged it, for the only forces it had faced had been broken ships and dazed survivors. Set against a genuine enemy the drift proved a singularly poor bulwark, its bastions feeble and its defenders little more than thug enforcers. The pirates knew not how to counter the rampaging Space Marines, who moved so quickly that they passed every defensive cordon before it could be established. In desperation the pirates flooded the area with bodies, sending every man they had to the edges of the drift, little realising this was the response the Amber Vipers had been expecting.

Deeper inside the ramshackle drift an interior airlock door slid open, revealing eleven Transhuman giants within. They were covered in frost, as incoming air froze to their ceramite plates and clung to the edges of their jump packs. Their armour was a mishmash of refit parts and molecular bonding studs and cables, that Imperial scholars euphemistically labelled 'Mark V' and their snarling respirators gave them a fearsome appearance. The squad was armed with an ad-hoc assembly of weapons: chain-glaives, hook-spears, thresher blades and in one case an energised trident. Yet at their head stood a warrior more daunting in appearance and mien. His armour was notched by kill-tallies and in his hands was a snarling axe-rake and an overlarge bolter. He was Battle-Captain Ferrac and he looked upon his enemy's home with disgust.

Ferrac tensed as the squad made its entrance, the airlock being an obvious choke-point. He would have preferred to cut his own entrance via Thunderhawk but the gunships would instantly have been noticed. Instead his squad, and the rest of Primus Cohort, had infiltrated across the outer surface of the drift, walking over miles of interior corridors unnoticed and unmarked. Now the pirates had no inkling that the centre of their base had been violated, they were open for the killing stroke.

Ferrac turned to the warrior with the crackling trident and commented, "No sign of guards, Sergeant Excelsiam, Secundus Cohort has drawn off the bulk of the Heretic's forces."

Excelsiam muttered, "They better make the most of their achievement, picking up the scraps of our glory is all they are good for."

Ferrac grinned under his helm and affirmed, "Aye, true glory awaits us, speaking of which we need to move. Chapter Master Coluber strikes for what passes for an Enginarium, and the rest of Primus Cohort have their objectives. They will cut out the heart of this monster, our mission to lop off its head. Follow me."

Instantly Ferrac set off, jogging down the open corridors of the drift. This section seemed to be human in origin, some pre-imperial spaceship by his guess. He opened his respirator and grimaced at the scent of metallic fumes and smoking cabling, the lack of blessed incense and sacred unguents jarring unto his ramshackle nature of this den was apparent in the dilapidated state of the walls, the hanging cables and decaying components. It irked him that the pirates had not even provided basic consecration for the Machine Spirits, a shocking lack of respect, but then he wasn't here to repair the place, he was here to destroy it.

Soon they reached a junction in the corridor and Excelsiam called, "Go left."

Ferrac couldn't see any difference and queried, "You're sure?"

Excelsiam snorted, "If you wanted to know the route, then you could have eaten the pirate's brains."

Ferrac chuckled, "No thanks, rank has its privileges. Lead on, Brother."

Excelsiam guided the squad left and Ferrac followed, reflecting on the necessity of their deeds. The Amber Vipers had caught a pirate ship raiding shipping in a nearby system and easily overrun it. They had subsequently learned of this drift and some interest facets of its nature, but had not found any schematics. Lacking intel they had resorted to eating the pirate's brains, taking from them the knowledge needed to identify key objectives. Sadly they could not just extract the plans, the Omophagea wasn't that precise, Excelsiam needed to see the base to match the environment to his stolen memories.

Swiftly the squad progressed, unopposed all the way. Ferrac was pleased by their speed, they were ahead of schedule but he was irked as a patch of heat built over his back. The Amber Viper's armourers worked night and day to tend to their gear but were lacking in resources and facilities. Every suit of armour had been repaired over and over, using substandard parts and tools. The Chapter bargained martial power for resupply, or outright scavenged and stole what they needed, but nothing they could acquire matched the superiority of Astartes pattern gear. No matter how diligent, the serf-artisans could only do so much and standards were slipping. Ferrac's own suit had begun to overheat when exerted, growing painfully hot where inferior power cabling blazed like lines of electric fire. The pain could be intense at times but he remained Astartes, such matters were beneath him.

Suddenly Excelsiam pulled up, with his clenched fist raised. The squad instantly froze as the Sergeant approached a hatch and peered round. An instant later he leaned back and whispered, "We've reached the access corridor to the nerve centre. Standard STC layout, one long line of sight, no cover for an attacker. Sixty guards, all armed."

Ferrac nodded as he said, "Good job we brought jump packs, prepare to engage on my order."

The squad gripped their weapons tightly and Ferrac raised his axe-rake before him as he intoned the litany of strength. His weapon had been taken from the hands of a dead Traitor Marine, evident by the hacked out symbol of a wolf's head, as had his gun, a rare variant of bolt weapon. The catechism completed Ferrac tensed himself, then bounded forward as his jump pack flared. The foot of a god kicked him in the rear and sent him hurtling down the length of the corridor, sailing high as he covered many metres in a heartbeat. Flaming contrails of exhaust kissed his legs and the heat on his back became a claw of searing fire, but he ignored it as he focused on the foe.

At the far end of the corridor a team of guards in carapace armour lurked, weapons held ready but not aimed. The guards were on alert yet had not expected the Space Marines to be so close, and they certainly were not expecting them to be flying. A volley of fire passed under Ferrac's boots as he soared down the corridor, then his leap reached its apex and he fell with his axe-rake snarling. The pirates screamed as a roaring giant fell upon them, his vicious chain weapon cleaving through them. Ferrac lashed out left and right, his vision filling with the spray of blood and bone as the spinning chain-teeth chewed bodies apart. The guards had no idea what had hit them and Ferrac tore them to shreds, then the rest of the squad hit home, obliterating them with savage ruthlessness.

"Pathetic weaklings!" yelled Brother Vardat as he tore out the throat out of a guard.

"These scum are barely worth killing!" hollered Brother Ultua as he disembowelled another.

Ferrac left them to their slaughter as he bounded through the open hatch, emerging into the command centre of the pirate's den. It was typical of human construction, a cruciform shape filled with dreary people labouring over glassic consoles and servitors chattering mindlessly to themselves. Yet it lacked any glorious frescos of the Emperor and triumphant statues, its walls instead bearing splashes of old blood and pockmarked with bullet holes. From the roof hung coffin-sized resin-shards on iron chains, each one entombing the body of a human and from their expressions they had still been alive when the searing hot fluid and been poured over them. Who they were or what they had done to offend the drift's mistress did not bother Ferrac, for he was focussed upon the next wave of enemies.

From out of nowhere came a flashing blur of grey and white, a whirlwind that struck him with bolts of lighting. A smear of light creased his vision and he snarled as a slice of raw pain cut across his forearm. He instinctively lashed out with his axe-rake but he missed his target, the snarling teeth chewing nothing but air. As tried to recover another slice of pain cut his thigh and another his left flank as his ceramite plate was violated. Ferrac desperately grabbed his gun in his other hand but a metallic boot connected with a flying kick that knocked it from his grasp and propelled the kicker into a backwards summersault.

The foe landed in a crouch, as the crew behind her panicked and fled. Ferrac looked upon her and saw a being with entirely augmetic limbs, her legs formed of springs and pistons and her hands replaced with crackling looped-plasma knives. Her torso was covered in a dappled bodyglove, with strange patterns of grey and white, that clung to her form and revealed odd implants in her back. Her face was stretched by surgical pins, pulling her features into a permanent sneer and the back of her skull was pierced by metal dreadlocks. Her appearance fitted her description perfectly: Deorra, the Buccaneer Queen.

As the command centre crew fled in terror Deorra spat, "So, a Space Marine comes at last. I'd heard you were mighty, but I am not impressed."

"Heretic filth!" Ferrac growled, "Coluber, Master of the Amber Vipers, commands your death."

Deorra sneered, "A strong leader would have come himself, not sent a lackey. I will slit this lord's throat, as soon as I am done with you."

Ferrac howled in outrage and threw himself at her. His axe-rake descended like a thunderbolt but Deorra was already moving. Piston rods in her legs threw her aside and the blow sailed past, even as she lashed out with her knife-hands. Ferrac felt a blow score over his chest and tried to smash her down with his elbow but she avoided being hit and launched an uppercut that nearly stabbed up through his jaw. Again and again he swung for her but she avoided each blow, moving with enhanced speed and strength. Ferrac still had size and weight over her, one solid blow would end her, but the Buccaneer Queen had been augmented in strange ways and Ferrac could not predict her moves so she dodged every blow.

Her dreadlocks whipped around her head as she bounded back and forth, always managing to be where the Axe-rake was not. Her blades flicked and darted, tearing at Ferrac's plate and making a mess of his proud heraldry. The Battle-captain chased her back and forth across the command centre, smashing consoles in his fury but he could not make contact. Her style was unfamiliar to him, not human, not Xenos and he could not find the flaw in her defence. It was like fighting mist in a forest as branches lashed him with every step. His frustration fed his anger and he became an enraged brute, wild swings dicing the air with wide sweeps.

Deorra danced back from a horizontal blow as she taunted, "So much for the vaunted Astartes, you fight like Ambull's clashing over a mate!"

Ferrac responded by swinging wildly and snarling, "Raaagh!"

Deorra laughed scornfully, "If this lord of your fights as feebly as you do then I shall surely claim his head!"

Ferrac's anger boiled over at the taunt and he swung hard, desperate to make contact, but he overextended. His axe-rake slammed into a console, showering sparks high and spilling cabling to the floor as the chain-teeth bit deeply. Instantly a flashing blade swept towards his arm and he was forced to let go of his weapon, lest he lose a hand. He stumbled back, unarmed and reeling as Deorra closed in for the kill. She bounded forwards, knives blurring as she struck upwards for his hearts. Ferrac saw the blow coming and reacted the only way a Space Marine knew how, he stepped in and took the blow to his belly. The knives cut him terribly and searing fire filled his gut, but crucially the deathblow missed his hearts.

Deorra froze in shock, only for a half-second, but it was enough for Ferrac. His left hand shot out and grabbed a handful of metallic dreadlocks, clenching tightly at the implants burrowed into her skull. Deorra screamed for the first time and tried to wriggle free but his grip was unyielding as granite. Ferrac held her still, then he heaved to the right, driving her head into a console. The glassic panel shattered, slicing her face to ribbons as she wept blood and teeth freely. Ferrac's anger wasn't sated and he slammed her face into the jagged mess again and again till she slumped in a dazed stupor.

Instantly Ferrac twisted, getting behind her as his other hand grabbed something. It was a loose cable and he wrapped it around her throat, forming a garrotte. His left hand came free of her dreadlocks and grabbed the cable, then he drew on all his strength to heave outwards. Deorra panicked as a hangman's noose closed upon her windpipe, cutting off her air. She scrambled at her throat but her bladed hands found no purchase, merely cutting her own skin. She kicked impotently and fought to break free but Ferrac pulled for all he was worth. He felt his hatred and his anger burning his hearts, even as his plate scorched his back and he pulled so hard he lifted her off the floor as he snarled, "Grrrragh!"

Deorra's kicks grew feeble and impotent as she went purple, then grey as her struggles ceased and she asphyxiated to death. Yet Ferrac did not let her drop, he held on for long seconds, making sure she was truly dead before he finally released her. He sagged, gasping for air as the Buccaneer Queen fell in a heap at his feet and he kicked the corpse in scorn as he spat, "Nobody threatens the master of the Amber Vipers while I draw breath: nobody."

A scuffle behind him broke his reverie and he span about expecting another fight but it was only Sergeant Excelsiam. The warrior jogged into the control centre, trident covered in blood and pulled up short. He looked about then saw Deorra's corpse and exclaimed, "She's dead already?!"

Ferrac hissed, "Filthy Heretic deserved worse."

"Ah," Excelsiam remarked as he cocked his helm to one side, "Made you feel the kill, did she?"

Ferrac ignored the comment as he turned and ripped his axe-rake from the console where it was buried. Then he growled, "Get the others and take this place apart. No survivors."


	35. Chapter 35

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 35**

The drift filled with panic and alarm, the sounds of battle and the rumbles of destruction. Explosions arose randomly, pushing the protruding components of the mass in strange ways. The twisted superstructure of the station, botched together out of a dozen wrecks, was quivering under the strain, filling the air with terrible groans and bowel-loosening wails. Desperate pirates ran in all directions, bereft of leadership and beset by rampaging Space Marines they could not stand their ground. The Amber Vipers seemed to be everywhere so they abandoned their posts and fled.

Hurtling around the interior of the drift Sergeant Reddam saw the pirates' courage breaking and knew victory was within reach. The scum were cowardly at heart, only brave enough to attack those who could not fight back. They had not the steel to match a superior opponent and no plan to deal with the multi-vector assault of the Astartes. Secundus Cohort had sown bedlam in the outer reaches, while Primus Cohort went for the vital systems. The pirates were broken and leaderless, fleeing to whatever hiding holes they could find. Reddam knew that rooting them all out could take weeks, but thankfully it was not necessary. Snakelets of the Tertius Cohort were even now sneaking into life-support systems and air recyclers, sabotaging the vital machinery that kept everyone alive. It would not matter if the pirates evaded death by bolt-round or chainsword once the breathable air ran out.

The Sergeant gripped the handlebars of his bike as he raced down a wide interior passage. He cared not what the pirates used it for, only that it headed the direction he needed to go and was swiftly emptying of enemies. Behind him raced his squad, their bikes keeping pace in formation. They had sown confusion and panic with their attack, but their movements had been far from random, in fact they had been heading towards a very specific objective. Reddam steered around an overturned cargo pallet as he called, "The objective is ahead, make ready!"

Behind him Tebes called over the grinding roar of their engines, "What resistance are we expecting?"

Reddam answered, "The vault contains their most important spoils and captives. Expect heavy resistance."

He could feel the truth of his words in his gut. Reddam too had consumed a pirate's brains and from them learned of a secure vault buried in the drift, filled with the prized fruit of their raiding. Reddam had never seen it with his own eyes but stolen memories steered his hands at every junction, taking him towards his objective. He could not have drawn a map of the drift to save his life but instinct guided him at every turn. They were close, he could feel it in his bones and excitement thrummed within him. The Chapter Master wanted that vault; the Amber Vipers needed what it contained.

Suddenly their path came to an abrupt halt, the passageway ending in a circular doorway, some twenty feet high and six feet thick. It was surrounded by heavy locks that looked almost impenetrable. Set before the door were multiple barricades, lined with guns and heavy weapons. A forest of barrels presented themselves to the oncoming Amber Vipers but that wasn't what made Reddam screech to a halt. No, what made him stop was that they were all empty and unmanned, while the large door was set wide open.

The squad pulled up and looked about in stupefaction as Glord exclaimed, "Where is everybody?!"

Larus mused, "Maybe they fled?"

Yet Tebes countered, "No, this is the pirate's most important asset, they wouldn't leave it undefended."

Reddam felt his hearts sink and he snarled, "Abaddon's Balls, they are looting the place. The Heretics must know they are beaten; so they seek to steal whatever they can, or worse destroy it. We can't let that happen, dismount!"

The squad followed his order, leaping from their mounts and pulling their melee weapons free. Reddam dismounted too and said, "Glord, guard the bikes." The Brother swiftly responded, unclipping the Heavy Bolter from its railing and hefting it in his grip as he pointed it back the way they had come. Reddam meanwhile reached into a sack fitted to the pillion and pulled out a small circlet of metal, which he clipped to his belt, then took up his spear and lead the others inside the vault. Thick metal walls passed them by, reinforced and strengthened against external attack. The pirates clearly thought this place to be their most important treasury and had made sure it would be difficult to penetrate. Probably more concerned about their own minion's thieving than any expectation of a real invader. Reddam gripped his spear in both hands as they emerged into a high roofed chamber, filled with piles of glinting metals and jewels, chests filled with soft fabrics and small statuettes. The floor had ornate rugs and skinned animal furs on the floors and the walls were hung with paintings and tokens taken from captured merchant ships. The room gleamed with opulence, a dream of avarice wrought in gold and silver that would have made any Rogue Trader's fingers itch with desire. Reddam however paid scant attention to it, surveying the room for lurking foes and angles of fire where a sniper could be hiding.

Larus however gripped his knives tighter as he spat, "What is this tat?"

Tebes hefted his mining pick as he replied, "Booty: captured spoils from the pirate's raiding. The Buccaneer Queen stores her treasures here."

Larus didn't sound impressed as he idly kicked a golden lectern wrought into the shape of a spread-winged eagle and commented, "This soft metal wouldn't withstand a lasblast, let alone a bolt-round. It's useless as cover, who'd want this junk?"

Kazao's voice was muffled by his helmet as he replied, "Someone who values aesthetics over tactical utility, that's who."

Larus shook his head and said, "What use are petty trinkets to the dead? I'd take a thick ferrocrete barricade, with good lines of fire, over all this trash."

Joffel held his bonesword low as he commented, "Mortals are idiots, they have no concept of martial glory. They reckon an individual's worth is measured by how big a pile of gold they can sit their fat arses on."

"Enough," Reddam barked, "This room is clear, we need to move on."

Hastily they advanced, their leather boots pressed grime and blood into the rich rugs and rare furs but the Space Marines cared not for the treasures they were spoiling. Weapons held ready they passed into a long corridor that moved ever further back, lined with rooms. Reddam glanced into a couple as they passed and saw more chambers filled with spoils but more than that he saw refectories stocked with rich foods and wines, holo-vid rooms and even a bathhouse. There were even bedchambers, where captives lay in drug-induced torpors, the most appealing of the pirate's slaves used to slake their base lusts. His stolen memories surfaced and revealed the pirates used this vault as more than a warehouse, it was a poor-mans pleasure palace. Deorra used this place as a reward for her elite guard, a way to ensure their loyalty to her rule. Reddam's disgust for this filth rose, but none of this changed his objective. His target was worth more than all of this combined.

Suddenly he pulled up as he heard raised voices ahead, many individuals locked in an argument. The words were blurred together but he recognised threats being made, followed swiftly by the noise of pistols firing. The squad reacted instantly, hastening their pace and they turned a corner to find a firefight. Before them a score of guards was fighting, hacking at each other with knives and blasting away with pistols. A half-dozen men were already down, bleeding or already dead as the rest battled. The cause of their conflict lay behind them, a plasteel door, sealed by many locks, which had mostly been burned through with a melta-cutter. One glance was enough to tell Reddam that the guards had been trying to loot the contents, but it seemed they had fallen out and started fighting over the spoils before they even got their hands on them.

Reddam wasted not a moment to yell "Kill them all!" as he charged into the fray. The first guard he killed before they even knew he was there. A thrust to the back plunged his spear right through the man and back out again, leaving him to collapse in a spray of blood. The surviving guards realised they had another foe and turned about, but too late for the Amber Vipers were upon them. Joffel swept his sword about and tore out a throat, then went low and hacked off another guard's leg then lopped off a hand, each stroke spilling blood freely. Tebes swept his mining pick into a woman's guts, doubling her over vomiting blood, then thrust with the flat head, smashing out a man's teeth and knocking him down. Larus fought with a knife in each hand, his slices leaving convulsing mortals in his wake as the poisoned knives did their deadly work. Kazao had a Kreig-grenade launcher in his hands, wielding the stock like a club. It was a crude weapon but empowered by Space Marine muscles it was enough to crack skulls and break bones.

Reddam waded through the melee, his spear spinning and thrusting constantly. Sprays of blood ran down its length, caught in the channels of its grip and pooling in the hacked out mark of a lightning bolt that Reddam had never quite managed to erase. A man and a women fell before his deadly onslaught, their screams music to his ears. Then suddenly the room was empty of mortals, save those dying upon the floor. Reddam spun about and saw his Amber Vipers flushed with victory, finishing off the downed foes who hadn't been lucky enough to die outright. One man was trying to stuff his guts back in and Reddam rolled his eyes as he lazily reversed his spear and thrust, plunging it into the pirate's heart. The last Heretic fell at his feet and Reddam pulled back his weapon as he yelled, "Quickly, open the vault!"

Joffel shook blood off his sword and peered at the last lock on the door saying, "They were almost through. They must have burned through all but one before they started fighting. It's a runepad combination… I think we'll have to eat their brains to find out…"

He was interrupted as Kazao stepped past him and drove his fist into the lock, shattering it to pieces. The door clunked loudly as the bolts disengaged and then it slowly ground open. Joffel blinked in surprise then said, "Or… that works too."

Reddam ignored the remark as he stepped inside to claim the prize, finding himself in a small room. It was sumptuously furnished, but he paid no regard to the decor, his eyes locked on the inhabitants. Stretched out on leather couches were four individuals, in robes that had once been fine indeed but were now tattered and frayed. They were all thin and willowy, pale-skinned and sallow of cheek. They bore many rings on their fingers and their lips were stained by copious amounts of wine but none of that held any import compared to the fact that each of them boasted a third eye set in the middle of their foreheads. They were Navigators, a sanctioned breed of mutants gifted the ability to steer starships through the Warp. Forget riches and art, finery and intoxicants, nothing could be of more value than the ability to chart a safe course through the nightmarish realm of the Empyrean. These were Deorra's true treasures and Reddam had been tasked to retrieve them.

The navigators started in shock as he entered and they rose to their feet. One man's mouth opened in a wide O and his third eye began to blink open, hinting at impossible mysteries that would drive a man mad to look upon them. Yet Reddam was already in motion, leaping across the room to backhand the mutant across the face. The Amber Viper had pulled his punch but navigator still went down like a sack of flour, collapsing bonelessly to the floor. Instantly Reddam pulled the circlet from his belt and slammed it over the mutant's skull, its length gripping his forehead in a vice and squeezing his eye shut. Reddam grabbed the Navigator in one hand and slung him over his shoulder as he saw the rest of the squad doing likewise.

Reddam turned back the way he came and called, "Make haste, the mission isn't over until we evacuate these prizes."

One woman was slung over Tebes' shoulder and she punched his back feebly with her dainty fists as she shrieked, "You can't do this, Navigator's lives are sacrosanct; the God-Emperor ordained it so! Who are you?!"

Reddam carried his prize out as he snarled, "We are the Amber Vipers and we are here to liberate you. You are being rescued, whether you like it or not."


	36. Chapter 36

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 36**

His hearts beat loudly in his ears, filling the silence with the excited rumble of his pulse. His eyes were bleary from endless squinting under harsh lighting and his lips were dry and cracked from hours spent without quenching his thirst. For many hours had he been hunched over his workbench, fiddling with minute connections and soldering tools, yet despite that his hands were steady and did not tremble as he made adjustments. His name was Kerubim and his labours were about to pay off.

Kerubim was sitting in a broad forge-fane, filled with devices and arcane items. There were tool benches and forged ingots of rare metal stacked in mathematically perfect rows. Along one wall a thermal stove kept a cauldron of molten metal bubbling eternally, filling the air with noxious fumes. Many of the benches in the place were filled with half-finished devices, their casings removed to expose the incomplete work within. The walls had been covered in idle scribblings, sketches, notes, half-finished prayers that trailed off into nothing and a single massive cog, haloing a human skull. A floating cyber-skull drifted around the ceiling, spraying incense at predetermined intervals and playing Binaric psalms on a continual loop. One whole wall was an armourglass viewport, gazing into the stars but it drew no attention, the fane's sole occupant consumed by his labour. The whole room belonged to a brilliant but unfocused mind, one that was continually distracted by the next idea that blazed into his head.

Currently Kerubim was working over a mass of wires, tubes, circuits and small glassic containers. It was spread out before him on a bench and he was stooped over the mess, applying a sparking tool to the circuitry one point at a time. In the glassic balls grey neural tissue quivered under his ministrations, the organic material bound into the apparatus as part of its processing systems. Kerubim had spent hours on this component and it was nearly finished, all he needed to do was install it.

Kerubim applied one last touch to the circuits and was at last satisfied. He set down his tool and straightened up, wincing as his muscles cramped in protest. Upright he was revealed to be a Space Marine, one with few scars for one of his breed. He looked young and inexperienced, a sword fresh from the coals of the forge and yet to be hammered on the anvil of battle. His face was unmarred, his hair was light brown and his eyes clear and sharp. Yet one of his shoulders bore the brand of a serpent wrapped around a goblet and the other a skull-in-cog device that proclaimed him a tech-adept.

Kerubim spent long seconds easing his bulging muscles, pulling his arms across his body in the prescribed katas indoctrinated into every Astartes. Once he was satisfied his body was replenished he looked down at his work and smiled. This neural cortex was his finest work and he had personally forged every connection and extracted the neural tissue from the brains of captive Heretics, no cloned tissue for the Amber Vipers, who lacked the facilities to vat-grow human tissue. Kerubim gingerly eased his hands under the mass of wires and containers and lifted it, then stepped slowly across the forge-fane.

He made his way past the various benches and also an alcove where a suit of power armour stood on a stand, its amber colours tinted with a vibrant red. He passed this by without a glance as he stepped carefully to the corner, where a bipedal machine awaited him. It was hunchbacked in form, with backward jointed legs and had splayed claws for feet, complete with wicked talons. Its arms were long clusters of barrels, able to spin rapidly and under them hung energised blades that protruded beyond the ends. A melta-gun stood proud on its back and its head hung low, with two bulbous visual sensors set on either side, giving it an insectoid appearance. Its shell was painted amber but that in no way disguised its nature or origin. It was a hunter-killer of the Legio Cybernetica, a branch of the Adeptus Mechanicus dedicated to producing and controlling war robots: a Vorax automaton.

Kerubim tentatively moved up to the Vorax's side, where a large open panel on its flank allowed access to its mechanisms. He reached inside and deposited his handiwork in a shallow bowl, then began fitting connections to various ports set around the edges. It was a meticulous work but Kerubim's hands moved with practised speed, as if they had done this many times before and in mere minutes he had finished the assembly. Kerubim stepped back and wiped the grease off his hands as he surveyed the Vorax top to tail.

Kerubim turned to pick up an incense brazier and lit it, letting sacred smoke rise into the air. Then he took up a silver wrench and dipped it in holy grease before approaching the machine, he lifted it high and struck the casing crying, "Omnissiah, bless this shell with your Motive Force!" He stepped back and picked up an arc-welder and applied it to the casing as he uttered, "Omnissiah, fill this shell with your sacred knowledge!" Finally he took up a silver ewer and poured sacred unguents into the joints as he intoned, "Omnissiah, guide this shell to war, so it may smite your enemies!" The Ritual of Awakening completed Kerubim laid down his tools and reached inside the machine, flicking over a small switch marked, 'ON/OFF'.

He closed the casing and stepped back, waiting for the results to emerge. The Vorax was still for a moment, then it began to hum with a low rumble of stirring machinery. Its optical lenses twitched, whirring in and out as its limbs slowly began to move. The head moved from side to side as the machine swept the room, then it saw Kerubim and its weapon arms began to rise to target him.

"Bane: relent!" Kerubim barked. The machine froze at the command, locked into immobility and Kerubim smiled, his labours had paid off. He stepped to one side, exposing the room and commanded, "Bane: seek and destroy."

The Vorax's optical lenses twitched upwards, seeking out the skull-probe which was still continuing its circling in blissful ignorance. The pair of rotor cannons jerked upwards and fixed on the small device, tracking it perfectly as the barrels spun. There was a sharp, click, click, click, as it tried to fire but its ammo hoppers rung empty for it had not been loaded. The Vorax growled mechanically in frustration and its melta gun rose, but it too was not armed so the hunter-killer was unable to complete its order. A distressed wail of Binaric arose but Kerubim commanded, "Bane: cease."

The Vorax stopped its efforts but Kerubim was elated, his experiment had succeeded. Happily he moved to stand beside the Vorax and ran his hands over the casing, soothing the Machine Spirit and patting its long limbs as he said, "Good, good, you did very well. Voice command is working and we have achieved thirty percent increase in reaction times, even more than I had hoped for. What a good killer you'll be, we'll show those Heretics a thing or two, yes we will."

His mantra was abruptly interrupted as a mortal voice called, "Are you talking to that blessed device like it is a Mastiff, again?"

Kerubim started in surprise, not least because his genhanced senses should have let him know someone was there. The Vorax however jerked forwards, rotor cannons spinning as it growled threateningly at the intruder. The cannons whirred rapidly but Kerubim hissed, "Bane: relent!"

The Vorax froze in position, helpless to resist the order as the intruder entered the forge-fane. Kerubim sighed as he beheld a mortal clad in rough overalls; his hands were grubby and on his shoulder was a brand of a spiral in a starburst. He was shorter than Kerubim and frailer, the Space Marine could kill him with one hand, but the Transhuman lowered his head in submission to the man for this was his teacher and mentor. Nathanal was the leader of the Amber Viper's artisan-chattels and the most learned of them all in ways of matters technical and the mysteries of the Omnissiah. He was also coaching Kerubim and two others in the ways of the Cult Mechanicus, in the hopes that the three of them could one day serve as the Amber Viper's first Techmarines. Yet judging from Nathanal's expression that day was far away.

Nathanal strode inside the Forge-fane and declared, "So this is what you've been doing, playing with that Vorax when you should be working."

"Bane," Kerubim replied sullenly, "His name is Bane."

Nathanal shook his head and said, "It has a unit designation, bestowed by the Omnissiah upon its commissioning. Your insistence on anthropomorphizing your charges is a distraction from the Quest for Knowledge."

"But I've improved him!" Kerubim protested.

"Improvement is one step from innovation, which is one step from invention," Nathanal rebuked sternly, "It is written in the catechisms of Mars, 'All that can be known is already known'. To diverge from doctrine is to blaspheme against the Machine God. I assigned you to repair those power regulators, so why are they strewn all over the benches?"

Even though he was being admonished by a man half his size Kerubim looked at his feet and muttered, "I got distracted, there was no challenge in the work. Any artisan could consecrate those units."

Nathanal pinched his nose and said, "Kerubim… you are quite possibly the most brilliant of my students, you pick up matters technical with ease but you lack dedication. I gave you this Forge-fane, I even gave you that Vorax to teach you what I could not, but you still leave projects half-finished and wander away on strange tangents. You must learn to focus on the task at hand."

"Yes Nathanal," Kerubim replied wearily.

Nathanal shook his head and said, "Well, let's see what you have done with your time."

The artisan moved to examine Bane and eyed the various patches and repairs as he muttered, "The repairs seem adequate, the frame is whole and the mechanisms restored. Voice control is working I presume… yes… good. I see you stripped out the lightning gun, smart move, we can't repair it. A Melta-gun is far more utilitarian and adds some anti-armour punch. Did you recite the Chant of Awakening as laid down by Scotti the Enginseer?"

"Of course," Kerubim retorted.

Nathanal nodded and said, "Well this is good work, if only you could bring this talent to the projects I assign, rather than doing what you please."

"I needed a challenge," Kerubim confessed.

"A challenge?" Nathanal mused, "Very well, let us see what you make of this."

He clapped his hands and a servitor trudged in, pulling a bier upon which was laid a suit of power armour. Kerubim was intrigued and moved to examine it, noting the torn ceramite and fused power cabling. The suit was battered, beaten and gored through the belly by two ragged gashes that he could fit his hand inside. The poor state of the armour appalled him, not least because such suits were irreplaceable. The Amber Vipers had barely enough to outfit half a company, most of which were assigned to Primus Cohort. His own armour was a generous concession, granted to him so his hard won knowledge would not be lost to some stray las-shot.

Kerubim picked up a multi-spectrum augur from a bench and ran it over the armour as he muttered, "Extensive damage from some bladed weapon, I can patch that up, but the rents over the chest are beyond repair. There's something else, the power conduits are damaged… this isn't new either."

Nathanal nodded as he explained, "Ferrac's plate has been overheating for some time. We can't fix it with the materials we have at hand."

Kerubim nearly dropped his augur in surprise as he exclaimed, "Ferrac?! The Battle-Captain? He is the most glorious and lauded hero of the Chapter!"

Nathanal muttered, "The most bloodthirsty more like, if he had his way this Chapter would bleed itself to death in a year."

Kerubim mused, "Still, to fight under him would be an honour. Some say he will lead the Chapter one day, when Coluber passes."

Nathanal scoffed, "That's another distraction, focus on the task at hand. The pirates are beaten; the fleet is moving in to strip that pile of junk they called a drift for everything it's worth. I have to supervise the salvage teams and press-gangs, but Ferrac is impatient. Can you fix this armour for me?"

Kerubim swelled at the honour given to him and said, "I can fix the rents and bless the armour, I may even be able to reinforce the insulation on those cables, but the breastplate is ruined. It needs a replacement from the derelict suits."

Nathanal sucked on his teeth, for their supply of spare suits was dire; the few armours they hadn't managed to restore had been stripped-mined to keep the others going. Established Chapters could forge their own gear or had pacts with Mechanicus Forgeworlds, but the Amber Vipers were not so blessed, lacking facilities and considered little better than renegades. Each remaining armour piece was jealously guarded and once they were exhausted there would be no more available. Kerubim waited as Nathanal weighed the matter but the mortal eventually conceded, "If there's no other option… do it."

Kerubim grinned at the prospect of working on so lauded an armour and said, "Right away."

Yet Nathanal held up a hand and said, "No, first you finish the power regulators, then you can work on the suit. I want all these units sanctified before you touch Ceramite. Now, I have fifty places I need to be, so get to work."

Nathanal turned and walked out of the forge-fane, leaving Kerubim behind. The tech-adept glanced at the piles of devices lying dissembled on the various benches and sighed loudly in frustration. He wanted to work on Ferrac's armour immediately but knew he had to finish what he had started. He glanced at the Vorax robot and muttered, "Well Bane… looks like we have a long night ahead of us. Better get started."


	37. Chapter 37

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 37**

Around the drift clusters of lights moved, swarming around the hangers and docking arms. Lines of shuttles and transports berthed with the airlocks and took on cargoes of machinery, useable parts, raw materials and warm bodies. At every airlock long lines of men and women stood in chains under the eyes of the Amber Vipers. There were captives taken from the general population of the drift alongside prisoners they themselves had claimed from captured starships, a few may even have been the elite guards, hurriedly disguising themselves as common folk but the Astartes cared not, everyone was taken regardless of former station.

Further out a gaggle of larger ships hovered over the drift, the Amber Viper's meagre fleet. There were a trio of converted mass-haulers, used to store spoils of war and perform basic manufacturing. Also four escort frigates of unremarkable ability, a sleek blockade runner and a single cruiser. She was a captured trade-carrack, refitted to act as the base of operations for the Amber Vipers. She massed no more than the average Strike cruiser, sadly lacking their speed, armour and weaponry, yet she was the best the Chapter could get. So she acted as their home until something better came along and they called her the Wyvern.

On the Wyvern's spine Ferrac was standing on an observation blister, gazing upon the activity around the drift. The Captain lacked his armour, which was still under repair, but his many scars still lent him a ferocious aspect. His wounds were healing and he stood impatiently with his arms crossed as he muttered, "How much longer?"  
A mortal voice answered, "Another twelve hours, that should do it."

That was Nathanal, the mortal artisan who was overseeing the salvage operation. He was reporting to the leaders of the Chapter, detailing what they had recovered. Another voice, gruff and scornful, inquired, "Any resistance?"  
Nathanal responded, "Not once the inhabitants realised their air was running out, anyone who doesn't get on our shuttles will suffocate to death."  
"Good," the voice muttered, "We've wasted too much time here already."

That was Shrios, the chief Apothecary. Like Nathanal he was training up a new core of specialists, three Brothers to serve as the healers of the Chapter. He was scornful of mortal lives and begrudging in his praise but he and Ferrac had fought side by side since before there were any Amber Vipers and he had earned respect, if not comradery. Yet third voice cut in, "We must speed up operations, I intend to depart the second we are done here."

Ferrac finally lowered his eyes and turned to look at the speaker. A proud Astartes, wearing amber robes and with a cold and cunning face. This was Chapter Master Coluber, leader of the Amber Vipers and the one whose vision had seen them wrought from nothing. Ferrac oft disagreed with Coluber's calculating strategies, yet he was perceptive enough to realise they had different burdens. The Battle-Captain had to win battles, no matter the cost, while the Chapter Master had to ensure the Amber Vipers survived. Every engagement had to be carefully measured, every war judged to see if the benefits outweighed the costs. A thankless task yet one Coluber performed every day. Ferrac had followed his leader through the Time of Exodus and he was utterly loyal to the man, the bond they shared was unbreakable. Ferric had killed many who threatened Coluber and not all had been Heretics or Traitors.

Shrios asked, "So, what have got?"  
"Long version or short?" Nathanal asked then when he saw their impatient glares hurriedly continued, "Short version it is… we've strip-mined enough spare parts to keep our flotilla running for a solar year. Fuel and provisions for another two, some munitions of low quality for our warships and ninety thousand slaves… errr… volunteers to join the work crews."  
Shrios snorted, "Don't hide behind euphemisms, they will work our ships until they die."

Nathanal looked up at them and proposed, "Have we considered claiming this place as a permanent base?"That was an amusing jest and Ferrac scoffed, "This heap of junk? It's pitiful, barely worth attacking in the first place."

Shrios grinned but Coluber corrected him, "These pirates have been plaguing three systems, attacking shipping and stealing valuable cargoes. Those planets provide food and materials to the Forgeworld Anvilla IX. Countless warzones cry out for their munificence, but even the Tech-priests cannot forge weapons without the necessary raw materials. We strengthen the Imperium with this act."  
Shrios muttered under his breath, "Don't expect the Cog-boys to thank us, the last time we tried to talk them they chased us off with gunfire."

That was indeed a bitter pill, the Amber Vipers had tried to forge a cooperative pact with the haughty tech-priests but had been violently rebuffed. Coluber had hoped that the Adeptus Mechanicus would supply them with arms and armour and ships but instead the Mechanicus guard fleets had opened fire on sight, declaring them renegades and promising dire retribution if they ever saw the Amber Vipers again. It had been a humiliating reminder of their place in the Imperium of Man, at best mercenaries for hire, at worst scavengers, thieves and looters. It was a dishonourable and base state of existence but what truly worried Ferrac was that the newer recruits didn't seem to agree, to them it simply was how things were.

Ferrac shook his head and lamented, "How much longer must we continue like this? Scrabbling for sustenance and fighting insignificant wars."

Coluber voice betrayed his shared his pain but he affirmed, "Not forever, I won't allow it. I refuse to let us remain this hollow mockery of a Chapter. The Amber Vipers will grow to greatness; we will become a Chapter as worthy as any other, this I swear. These are but our first growing pains, in time we shall become what we are meant to be. The key is to keep forging pacts and building a reputation for loyalty, in time recognition will come and with it support. Forgeworlds will supply us with arms, worlds with recruits, armies of men will be proud to fight alongside us. The name of the Amber Vipers will not stand in darkness alongside the Carcharodon Astra or the Exorcists, we will stand in the light as the best of men. "

Ferrac wished it was true but Shrios muttered, "A nice dream, but we have other issues."  
Coluber queried, "Oh?"

Shrios nodded, "Brother Cemial from Secundus was lost to a stray round. I harvested his gene-seed and added it to the stockpile. We have a considerable quantity of gene-seed, enough to start thinking about a third generation of recruits, but what we lack is good breeding stock. We need a fresh intake of new blood to build our numbers, sooner rather than later."

The Amber Vipers recruited from orphans of wars they fought in but Ferrac spat, "We'd better find a worthier warzone than this to recruit from, these wastrels are useless weaklings."  
Nathanal rubbed his jaw and commented, "I'll have to task the factory ships to produce more scout-armour. We have none to spare for more of you."

The debate was suddenly cut off as Coluber said, "Patience my friends, this affair is not yet done. We have another matter to address before we move on: our new Navigators. Sergeant Reddam brought us four more to add to the nine we have 'acquired'. They are in our cells but we do not yet have their loyalty."  
"We could add four more ships to our roster," Ferrac concurred, "A most valuable find, how the pirates took them alive is a mystery."  
Coluber agreed, "We must assure their commitment to a new cause. Come Brothers, we have work to do. Nathanal return to your duties."

The party split up, the three Astartes heading out as the mortal left by another route. They made their way down from the observation blister into the heart of the ship. They passed various chattels on their business and a squad of Secundus Cohort Brothers, all second-generation inductees to the Chapter. They were lounging about, idling their time away now that the battle was done. Ferrac could not help but note that they were not at meditation or training or tending to their armour, as an Astartes should be, and he growled at them to send them on their way. It irked him that the Amber Vipers had developed such lax standards but it seemed unavoidable, there was nothing resembling a Chaplaincy in the Chapter and the despite their best efforts the 'Old Seventeen' could not be everywhere to set an example to the ranks. He did not doubt the younger generation's dedication or zeal, they would certainly fight, but their personal discipline left a lot to be desired. As with everything the Amber Vipers simply had to make the best of what they had.

While Ferrac was fuming over standards the trio made their way to the prisoner's quarters. It was guarded by two Brothers of Primus, whom Ferrac had selected for their quickdraws and very short tempers. They at least saluted properly to their Chapter Master who stopped outside the door and said, "We'll play this the same way we did the other Navigators, Ferrac scares them into line while I offer a generous lifestyle."  
Shrios scoffed, "Good Astartes, bad Astartes?"  
Ferrac grinned as he said, "More like fast death or slow death."

Coluber snorted in amusement as he pushed open the hatch and stepped within the first prisoner's cell. The room was a bare metal cell, featureless save for a small piss-hole in the floor. Huddling in one corner was a small slip of man, enveloped in voluminous robes covered in arcane symbols. His skin was pallid and lacking in any form of pigmentation, his limbs were thin and weak and his face was filled with fear. Ferrac would have dismissed him in a heartbeat save for the band of metal gripping his forehead, keeping his third eye shut. The mark of the Navigator, the curse and the blessing of mutation that made these beings so reviled and unspeakably valuable.

The Navigator cowered into a corner as the trio entered and stood before him. Shrios was the first to speak, "This is the one? He looks like he will drop dead any second."  
Ferrac snorted, "He's weak, too weak for our purposes, let me throw him out an airlock."The Navigator cowered back but Coluber replied softly, "Patience Brothers, he's too valuable to lose. This one is under my protection, let it be known that any who lay a hand upon him will face my wrath."

That little performance was entirely for the Navigator's benefit, letting him know they weren't planning to kill him outright. Ferrac was playing the iron fist and Coluber the velvet glove, a tried and tested method they had found most effective. They needed this Navigator's skills to be used willingly, lest he dump them into the first Warp Storm he saw. Coluber crouched down and said, "Do you have a name?"

The Navigator blinked his normal eyes then said, "I… I am Mihas, of House Chamandley."  
"Never heard of you or your house," Ferrac growled.  
"House Chamandley is proud and respected!" this Mihas cried, "I demand you return me to my kin immediately."

Ferrac barked, "You don't get to make demands, filthy mutant!"  
Mihas should have been cowed but he raised his chin and retorted, "You won't kill me."  
Ferrac loomed over him and hissed, "You'd be amazed at what you can live through."

Mihas shrank back at that but Coluber leaned in and said, "Peace, there is no need for threats. I am Coluber the Chapter Master of the Amber Vipers, this is Battle-Captain Ferrac and Apothecary Shrios. I apologise for your rough treatment but it was necessary. We have rescued you from imprisonment by those vile pirates, but we do not do this out of mercy. I have spent the blood of my Brothers for your freedom and I expect recompense. I have a need for skilled Navigators and you have a need to keep breathing… I think a deal can be made here."

Arrogantly Mihas snorted, "Serve you?! I am the heir apparent to a lauded House, I am not an equine you can keep in a metal cage and trot out for displays!"  
Shrios stepped in then to say, "We do have better accommodation and certain comforts can be arranged."

Usually at this point the conversation descended into bargaining, the Navigators trying to extort as much finery as they could get away with. It was an old dance, one Ferrac had played out many times, but today Coluber broke the pattern to exclaim, "Wait… you are an heir apparent?!"

Mihas paused in confusion and said, "Errr… yes."  
Coluber breathed slowly, "Which would make your father a Novator. So... the heir to a noble house gets captured and his father does not send out fleets to track him down… No mercenaries armies, no private hunters seeking to rescue him. How very… unlikely."

Ferrac sneered in contempt, "Looks like somebody isn't too popular at home."  
Yet Shrios countered, "Or he wasn't there unwillingly… Did House Chamandley cut a deal with the pirates, Navigators for a slice of their profits?"

Mihas was suddenly suspiciously silent but Coluber laughed, "Its true isn't it, your house was profiting from their crimes. Navigator Houses are among the richest bodies in the imperium, you have a hand in every deal, every expedition, every transaction. Usually working through agents but somehow a Navigator is always involved at some level. But to make a deal with such filth... ahhh, I see... you're desperate, your House must have fallen on hard times indeed."

Ferrac snorted, "Did you pick the wrong side in some courtly intrigue and get kicked off Terra?"  
Mihas glared at them and muttered, "I have nothing to say to you, House Chamandly admits to nothing."

His defiance was clear but Coluber shook his head and said, "A paltry denial but you misunderstand my intent. I am not planning to turn you over to the inquisition, far from it. I have a new proposal, I want you to send a message to your father and arrange a meeting between us."

Ferrac started in surprise and yelped, "Do what?!"  
Mihas seemed to agree as he spluttered, "Why would I do that?"

Coluber spread his hands as he explained, "Mutual self-interest, you want your house to prosper and I have grander plans than scraping by on what I can salvage, conqueror or steal. I want my Chapter to be whole and proud and a pact with a Navigator House would bring me a lot closer to that goal. It appears your house could also do with allies. Imagine the prestige of having an Astartes Chapter at your side, imagine what the other Houses would think of you. Respect is currency all its own, is that any less true for Navigators?"

Mihas looked doubtful as he said, "I'm not sure what my father would say."  
Yet Coluber replied confidently, "Let us skip the false pretences, we both know you will comply. So, send your father a message that there is an Astartes Chapter looking to make a deal with him."


	38. Chapter 38

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 38**

The Wyvern groaned as her superstructure was compressed by the multiple dimensions of non-space, battered by empyreal tides that owed nothing to physics or sanity. The crew slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares and every soul on board kept glimpsing strange shadows in the corners of their eyes, that disappeared when looked at directly. Time ran strangely on some decks, crew labouring for hours only to look up and find seconds had passed while other entered corridors on the morning watch and when they reached the other end the night shift bells were ringing. Some individuals found themselves lost in compartments they had walked with confidence for years and others stepped through hatches to find themselves emerging on the other side of the ship. Many could not cope with the bizarreness, going mad or launching into murderous rampages while suicide rates among the chattels soared.

All things considered it was a fairly routine warp jump.

Sergeant Reddam paid no mind to the disquieting sensations as he ministered to his bike, soothing its wounded spirit and repairing its damage. The noble steed was mostly intact, its reinforced frame withstanding the blows of the enemy with only minor scrapes but he worked on it anyway. The machine had served him well once again and it deserved his care in return. So he polished its frame until it shone, buffed out the grazes and applied fresh paint to its cowling. He did this for hours, a soothing meditation that distracted him from the perils of the Warp, sadly his reverie was interrupted as Glord complained, "This is chattel work."

Reddam glanced up, looking across the machine shop attached to their billet. Set out in rows were the squad's bikes, each one being worked over by their rider. Joffel working a polishing cloth over his exhausts while Tebes was pulling bits of broken bone from under his mudguard. Larus was scrubbing out his bolters with a wire brush while Kazao was fiddling with his auspex, the built-in surveyor reflected in his stormtrooper's helmet. Only Glord was idle, drumming his hands on the sidecar of the attack bike and gazing at the bare metal walls.

Reddam didn't look up from his work as he replied, "This is important, your arms and armour deserve your full attention. The Machine Spirits are fickle and wayward by nature, without your total dedication they may turn upon you."

Glord snorted, "How likely is that to happen?"  
Reddam replied sternly, "A warrior who does not tend to his gear is a fool, and then soon after a dead fool. Would you be struck down by a blocked oxygen line or your armour's power cell failing at a critical moment?"

Joffel looked up from his own bike and retorted, "But Sergeant, we don't have power armour, only scout-plate. Only Primus Cohort can boast such gear."

Reddam snapped back, "And on the day you are elevated to Primus may the Emperor save you, for Battle-Captain Ferrac would flay the hide off any warrior he saw disrespecting his armour."

Larus suddenly grunted as he reached into the space between his bike and its sidecar and yanked hard exclaiming, "Fang-rot, something is really stuck in here… hold on… Throne! Tis a jawbone, a whole human jawbone, it must have sprung up there when we ran over those Heretics."

Reddam snorted, "You see, that could have worked its way into an axle or a brake line, fouling your bike at the most critical moment."

Glord didn't seem to be paying attention as he eyed Larus and said, "Are you going to dispose of that?"  
Larus held the jawbone up to his eyes and said, "Actually I think I'll keep it. The teeth would look good hanging around my neck."  
Glord laughed, "Try taking the skin off this time, before it stinks the place out."

Reddam rolled his eyes for Larus had developed a habit of collecting trophies from the dead. Teeth, ears, fingers, bits of hair. He'd even tried to keep eyeballs in the billet, until they started to rot and stink the place out. Reddam had ordered him to throw them out, they were no strangers to battlefield stenches but the billet was no place for such things. The squad all had their strange ways, Joffel's quest for glory, Tebes' dourness, Kazao's mutations, Larus' collections and Glord's laughter. For a solar year Reddam had led them to war and they had fought and killed many times. Their rough edges were working away and a true squad was emerging, yet it was not what he was accustomed to. They lacked the stern discipline and rigid self-restraint he had known in his youth, when he had marched in other colours.

Kazao spoke up then, "What I want to know is, where are we going next?"  
Joffel answered, "Rumour has it we're taking the fleet to Braxia. Apparently those Navigators we recovered had some juicy information."

Reddam frowned as he asked, "Where'd you hear that?"  
Joffel replied, "From a chattel, who heard it from his supervisor, who heard it from a galley worker who feeds the helmsmen's mess."  
"I wouldn't put much stock in rumours," Tebes muttered.

Joffel shrugged, "Doesn't matter, we will find out soon enough where the next job is coming from."  
Reddam scowled as he corrected the youth, "We are the Adeptus Astartes, we undertake holy missions in service to the Golden Throne and for the benefit of all mankind. We do not do 'Jobs'."

Glord called over, "Really? Then what would you call that fight on Caweral? That fat Governor wanted his eldest son eliminated, along with his whole household. We gutted his orbital palace and made it look like a Traitor attack, got fifty palates of missiles and a flight of Vulture gunships for our trouble."

Reddam winced for that had hardly been their noblest hour, one more sordid pact to extend the Chapter's life, but outwardly he proclaimed, "You know Chapter Master Coluber learned that the son was plotting secession from the Imperium. The governor couldn't move openly against his own family but with one clandestine strike we prevented an entire war."  
Glord grinned as he said, "That's the official story, but I never believe anything until it's officially denied."

Reddam was irked by his tone but thankfully Kazao stepped in to say, "Glord you take your duty too lightly, the life of the Astartes is a sacred calling. You should be content in your station and cease questioning everything. To question is to doubt and doubt is the path to Heresy."  
"Aye," Tebes concurred, "Truly it is said, 'Blessed is the mind too small for doubt'."

Reddam was relieved at a couple of his squad took their life seriously. His hands were aching from long hours of work and he determined that their bikes' spirit were placated. He drew in a breath and said, "I think we have completed our ministrations, let us retire." The squad thankfully dropped their tools and stood up, stretching out tired muscles. Tebes in particular had to work out his right arm where a patch of fresh scar tissue clung to his shoulder, a memento from their exfiltration of the drift. The dour lad had an unearthly ability to get hit, every time they went out he seemed to come back with some minor scrape or injury. It was getting ridiculous how many scars he boasted.

Reddam led the squad from their machine shop, leaving their bikes to rest in peace as he marched into the billet. The squad's billet was a large open space, with a few items of furniture and individual sleeping cells set around the edges, along with an arming chamber and an ablution chamber. It wasn't quite as austere as a conventional Chapter's quarters. There were trophies on many of the walls, odd items they had picked up on their travels, a shelf of books and a few foodstuffs and beers in a small cabinet. Reddam remembered the cold, bare cells of his youth and the stern-faced Chaplains who had overseen every facet of their lives. Those grim zealots would have been scornful of such frivolous luxuries, and would have commanded them to burn the lot. On this one matter Reddam was glad the Amber Vipers had not recreated that stern discipline, he rather liked owning more than his armour and his weapons. It had been a revelation to learn he could relax for an hour and not face stern penances for simply enjoying himself.

Everybody threw themselves onto couches and chairs taken from various adventures. Tebes and Larus set up a game of cards on a table, using spent bolt-casings as currency. Kazao took a book off a shelf and opened a well-thumbed page while Glord rummaged around in the cabinet and asking, "Anybody else want a beer?"  
Reddam had a flashback to his former life and pictured the fit of apoplexy the Chaplains would have had at such a sentiment, then cheerfully said, "I'll have one."

Glord tossed him a bottle, which he opened bare-handed and supped at the contents. He swilled the taste of hops in his mouth and swallowed slowly. He couldn't get drunk on this but he enjoyed the taste. Meanwhile Joffel was eyeing a wooden rack, which held the squad's melee weapons. His eyes lingered on the power spear and he asked, "Can I try it out?"  
"When you're old enough," Reddam snapped.

Joffel didn't catch the warning tone in his voice and continued, "It's a fine weapon, truly magnificent."  
Tebes frowned as he asked, "Why have you never told us the tale of how you acquired it?"  
"Aye Sergeant," Larus concurred, "Tell us the tale of your heroics."

Reddam good mood evaporated as his mind flashed back to the Time of Exodus. Those dark days on the run, fighting to survive at any cost. He remembered the burnt sky overhead, he remembered the smell of churned mud and the sight of broken purple-clad bodies all around. He remembered the corpse laid out on the ground before him and the smears of blood and brain over his hands as he dropped the weight of the rock and snatched up the spear to defend himself from the next attacker. Above all he remembered the sense of shame and dishonour that had dogged him since that accursed day. Reddam nearly crushed the bottle in his hands as he growled, "Never ask me that question again, do you hear me?!"

Everybody started in surprise at his outburst and all eyes turned to him but thankfully there was a cough at the door. Reddam was glad of the interruption and turned to see Apothecary Shrios standing there, his white armour looming over the lighter-clad Brothers. Shrios cocked his head and said, "Am I interrupting?"

Reddam called out in relief, "Nothing of import, come in. What can we do for you honoured Apothecary?"  
Shrios stepped within and said, "Its that time again."

Kazao groaned audibly and stood up, trooping over to the Apothecary as he removed his helmet. The others averted their eyes as he revealed his mutated face, even after a year of bonding the taint of the mutant stirred hatred and revulsion in all true Imperial hearts. Reddam forced himself to look at Kazao, taking in his scaled features and red eyes. Kazao was afflicted by sub-standard gene-seed, a lingering curse left by the extreme measures the Amber Vipers had been driven to in order to survive. Other Chapters would cull such aberrations without comment but the Amber Vipers needed every hand that could hold a bolter, so such twisted malforms were permitted to fight alongside their pure stock. A necessary evil, that all hoped would prove temporary and be swiftly forgotten. Still Kazao's gene-seed would never be accepted, his sole legacy would be a good death on the battlefield.

Shrios held Kazao's head in both hands and twisted his skull up and down, left and right as he muttered, "No change in skin condition, cornea still afflicted. Some slight growth in the fangs… nothing worth getting worked up about. Externally there is no change, but let's have a look at your blood, give me your arm."  
Kazao held out his arm and rolled up his sleeve as the Apothecary took a sample from a vein and said, "Am I dying?"

Shrios examined his armour's Narthecium as he replied, "Not today, but your Betcher's gland is overworked. Your acid bite may become troublesome in time… I'll keep an eye on it. That's it for now, return to your duties."

Kazao gratefully jammed his helmet back on and returned to his seat. Reddam however was gazing at the Apothecary's belt, where several glass orbs hung and asked, "What's that?"  
Shrios grinned slightly as he replied, "A new poison, I cultivated it from a rare fungus growing in the Drift's air vents. The prisoners said it would rot a man's lungs out in a day. Larus can try it out for me."

The Apothecary set down the orbs on a table as Glord exclaimed, "That's where you get the poison for your knives! I thought you had a Catachan Devil hidden under your bed!"  
"Hardly," Shrios snorted, "I cultivate poisons and toxins as a hobby, Larus is good enough to try them out for me. The effects have been… interesting if mixed."

Reddam shook his head in bemusement, then he leaned in and said, "Do you know where the Chapter is heading?"  
Shrios glanced at him and asked, "Why do you want to know?"  
Reddam shrugged, "I just do, after all we've been through together won't you tell me?"

Shrios lowered his eyes and said, "You saved my life, I can't deny that, just don't tell anybody I said this. The Chapter is sailing for Braxia to the lunar palaces of House Chamandly. Coluber thinks to forge a pact with a Navigator House."  
Reddam blinked in surprise at the revelation, "Navigators… that's unexpected. They are rich and powerful and cunning, one misstep and this could end in disaster. I trust he knows what's he's doing, because we are risking all with this endeavour."


	39. Chapter 39

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 39**

His armour felt stronger, its movements crisp and smooth. The ceramite casing had been repaired beautifully and the fibre bundle musculature hadn't felt so good in years. His new breastplate shone like a bronzed mirror and every detail and honour marking was polished. The back still felt hot on his skin but other than that Ferrac was pleased with the repair work, the plate's spirit had been restored to nearly mint condition.

"So, does this please you?" came the voice of Nathanal.

Ferrac swung his arms left and right, as the auto-motive pauldrons shifted their angles to compensate, saying, "It is good."

His voice was almost lost in the bustle of the landing bay, filled as it was with labouring chattels and grinding machinery. Teams of mortals doted upon the Amber Viper's twin Thunderhawks, Viper's Bite and Poisoned Fang, the only two gunships they had left. Further back smaller Arvus lighters and servitor-driven cargo lifters loomed, the salvaged craft forming the bulk of the Chapter's aerial coterie. They were essential craft, the Chapter couldn't function without them, but they were pathetic war machines when set against a true Thunderhawk. The venerable design powerful and robust and furious in battle. It was no exaggeration to say those two gunships held the Chapter's fighting strength in their claws and they were revered among the fighting ranks.

Ferrac turned his gaze from the twin craft to peer down at the mortal as he inquired, "Is this your work?"

Nathanal shook his head as he said, "Not mine, my finest apprentice, Kerubim."

Ferrac clenched and unclenched his gauntlets, approving of the increased strength as he said, "He does nice work."

Nathanal grimaced as he said, "When he puts his mind to it he can, sadly his focus is lacking."

Ferrac was surprised to hear that and said, "Surely to make the grade of Space Marine he must have dedication and fervour."

"That's not the problem, it's not even that he's learned all I have to teach him, It's that he knows he has surpassed me. He has reached the limits of what I can teach and he yearns for fresh challenges."

"Hunh, he's certainly going to get that," Ferrac muttered.

The pair of them turned to gaze at the ramp of Viper's Bite, where a red-armoured Astartes stood alongside two lines of warriors. These were the escort waiting to accompany the lords of the Chapter on their envoy to the Navigator House, a ceremonial detail in full heraldry. Their power armour shone to perfection, their honours were newly restored and their weapons were held rock steady. Excelsium Squad and Torvus Squad, the finest warriors of Primus Cohort, standing at parade rest, along with Kerubim and his Vorax robot.

Ferrac started marching towards them and Sergeant Excelsium barked, "Attention!" The squads slammed into formal stance in perfect synchronicity, and Ferrac was pleased to not see a fault among them. The Battle-Captain slowly paced up and down before them, inspecting his warriors with a stern eye. Excelsium's squad had their weapons held at rest and their jump packs gleamed while Torvus' Tacticals held their bolters in perfect alignment. Secundus and Tertius Cohorts operated with devolved autonomy, each sergeant given freedom to operate independently, but Primus was Ferrac's own command and he held his warriors to the highest standards. Not for him the sloppy attitude of the lower orders, he demanded the same conformity and discipline of any other Chapter. Secundus and Tertius were necessary evils in his mind, a crude mould from which to forge a true weapon. Primus was the future of the Chapter and one day all Amber Vipers would be held to this measure.

Ferrac was finally satisfied that all was in order and faced them saying, "Congratulations, you appear to be in order. I expected no less, but be warned the Amber Vipers are placing our necks into a noose. If this does not go as expected we may have to fight our way out."

Sergeant Excelsium grinned as he said, "Are we sure we don't want to bring the rest of Primus along?"

"Two squads is enough, more would place them on alert," Ferrac replied, "If it comes to violence twenty armed Astartes should be able to fight off a rabble of private bondsmen."

Excelsium hefted his trident as he concurred, "No Navigator's painted Huscarls will stand against us."

He heard a scuffle and saw Nathanal confronting Kerubim saying, "Oh no… you're not taking that Vorax along."

Kerubim's frowned as he protested, "But Bane will whine if I'm not here."

"It's not your pet!" Nathanal snapped, "It is a blessed device, a war machine not a mastiff."

Ferrac eyed the Vorax warily and interjected, "Leave it, we can manage without it."

Kerubim glared in frustration at being overridden but could not argue with the Battle-Captain. Finally he muttered, "As you wish, but keep him under control Nathanal, he will miss me."

"Worry about yourself," Ferrac muttered, "Because here they come."

From across the launch bay came Chapter Master Coluber, Shrios and the diminutive Navigator Mihas. Ferrac eyed the little mutant, completely dominated by the pair of Astartes looming over him as they walked across the bay. His face was still pale and his expression was nervous but he walked with a steady gait and soon reached them. Ferrac treated him to a growl as Shrios hurried him up the ramp but Coluber came to a halt and faced the squads. The Chapter Master gleamed in his plate armour, every inch of him resplendent and on his hip was his mighty relic blade Venom. Coluber looked over the warriors and then declared, "Brothers, today we write a new page in our history, today we take a glorious step out of the shadows and into the light. We are in orbit over Braxia and will soon meet with the Novator of House Chamandley. We seek to forge an alliance unlike any other we have known before, not merely for Navigators to steer our ships but for the recognition of a powerful Imperial institution. As such I expect each of you to be the exemplar of our order, wear your pride on your sleeve and hold your heads high. Now, to your places."

The two squads turned and marched into the troop bay of Viper's Bite but as they did so Nathanal stepped up and said, "I should be going."

Coluber shook his head and said, "No, your presence would confuse matters. I need this Novator to see us as a proud Chapter, so only Astartes shall go. I trust your apprentice can look suitably formidable."

Nathanal nodded and said, "He can look the part, just don't let him wander off."

"I'll keep an eye on him," Ferrac muttered touching the haft of his axe-rake which was clamped to his hip.

"Then let us move out," Coluber said, leading Ferrac inside the Thunderhawk.

Once inside Ferrac positioned himself in a restraint cage, locking himself in its bare bars. He spied the frail Navigator looking about in confusion, seeing no cage fit for a mortal, and called, "No soft comforts here mutant, this beast is built for war."

Mihas swallowed nervously but Kerubim spoke up, "Try binding yourself into the cargo netting, the pilots will try to keep this smooth."

Mihas hurriedly strapped himself in as Viper's Bite sealed itself shut and took off. The launch was surprisingly gentle, by Astartes standards, but Mihas closed his normal eyes and looked like he was about to be sick. Ferrac felt the engines stir as the gunship exited the bay, emerging into the void over Braxia's moon. Outside he knew the Amber Viper's fleet was sitting at geosynchronous anchor, awaiting the result of their envoy and doubtless under the guns of whatever orbital defences the moon boasted. He knew their meagre fleet of captured junkers wouldn't fare well in such a confrontation, even Wyvern wasn't that powerful in void terms. If this didn't go well they were in trouble.

As Viper's Bite began to drop Kerubim inquired, "So, what is Braxia like?"

Mihas was turning green but with a nauseous tone he replied, "A minor agri-world, of no real import. House Chamandley purchased land rights to the moon from the local Governor two-hundred years ago. We built our palace and the orbital guns out of our own pocket."

Kerubim sounded bemused as he mused, "The Governor let you build a private fortress on his moon?"

Mihas managed to inject some pride into his tone as he corrected, "Why not, after all we bought the whole moon."

Ferrac wasn't surprised by that but Kerubim started, "Fang-rot, how rich is your family?!"

Shrios laughed loudly at that and declared, "Boy, you have no idea. Navigators have been accruing wealth since the Emperor walked as a man. They have their fingers in every pot and a cut of every transaction in the galaxy. If mutants weren't so reviled they'd probably own the Imperium by now."

Coluber elaborated, "Most Navigator Houses own palaces on Terra and nothing is more expensive than land on Old Earth. The worth of a square metre of ground there could buy a Hive City on most other worlds. Owning a moon is short-change to most Novators."

Kerubim fell quiet in shock and the rest of the trip passed in silence. Ferrac had no interest in looking outside so he waited as the gunship hit a thin atmosphere and decelerated. He had done this countless times and was untroubled but Mihas looked like he thought the gunship would explode at any moment. Doubtless he was accustomed to soft descents in beautiful shuttles, complete with inertial grav-couches and nubile serving girls offering him beverages from crystal wine flutes, but a Thunderhawk was a different beast, they flew hard and fast and even without trying they reached the surface in mere minutes.

Ferrac waited until the Thunderhawk set down with a jolt then he was instantly on his feet and at the ramp. Ferrac saw thin lights outside and was moving before it even set down, followed by the squads in combat formation. They bounced out and formed a perimeter, guns facing outwards. He found himself in a bare rockcrete landing zone, sitting at the bottom of a shaft that rose high above. They must surely be deep underground, in a shuttle pad buried into the surface of the moon. The air was thin but steadily increasing and the bay was surprisingly quiet. No ground teams were waiting for them, no Tech-priest to service their craft and no servitors to refuel it. Yet there were guards, forty of them in a row before him. Ferrac eyed the humans and was not impressed. They were of no great height or build and bore only lasrifles as arms. Their uniforms were bright yellow, with black dots lining their limbs and they wore tall fur hats, that towered nearly a foot over their heads. Their boots were polished to a shine and their necks had leather stocks that kept their chins up at all times. Ferrac saw no scars on their faces, no signs any of them had fought a real battle and he judged he could kill them all on his own using nothing but his axe-rake.

His vox-bead crackled in his ear as Excelsium sneered, "Paper soldiers, these Navigators put their trust in men with no spine."

Ferrac ignored the remark as he strode forward and declared, "I am Battle-Captain Ferrac of the Amber Vipers, we are expected."

One small man, with a waxed moustache looked up at him and replied, "I am Vusergo, of the House Huscarls. We are your escort, Novator Chamandley will meet you in his throne room but first you must disarm."

Ferrac was amused by that and retorted, "That's not going to happen."

This Vusergo looked like a child who had been denied a sweet as he protested, "I must insist you relinquish your guns!"

Ferrac leaned in close and growled, "I'm willing to relinquish one round, where do you want it?"

Vusergo quailed but before anything could occur a loud voice cried, "Peace!"

Ferrac's head came up and he saw a gaggle of mortals entering the bay, each one covered in rich robes or fine clothing. They looked like a cloud of floating peacocks, each one competing with the next for the lavishness of their attire. Medleys of colours and hairstyles bloomed among them, a profusion of fashions and artistic flairs. Elaborate wigs and powdered faces were commonplace as was unsuitable footwear that looked poorly designed for running to his eye. There seemed to be some code to their dress, some indicator of hierarchy, but it was lost on Ferrac. Yet he could not help but notice they all had third eyes on their foreheads. Navigators, in the flesh.

Vusergo spun about and exclaimed, "Lord Chamandley, you should not be here!"

A wizened man came to halt before them and said, "Nonsense, I wouldn't shame so lauded a guest as a Chapter Master by making him walk to me. I am Walkaq Chamandley, Novator of this House and I honour you with my presence."

Ferrac caught the implication and seeing no danger barked, "Squads, form up."

Both squad instantly reformed, coming to present two lines leading from the Thunderhawk to the Novator. Two gleaming lines came to be, facing inwards and holding their weapons aloft, then the Chapter Master finally emerged. Coluber strode down the ramp and marched with his head held high, followed by Shrios, Kerubim and rather sheepishly Mihas. Ferrac heard the Navigators gasp at his glorious countenance and a few shrank back as he came to stand before them. Then the Chapter Master declared, "Novator, I am Coluber and I thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

Walkaq beamed insincerely as he replied, "The honour is mine, I offer you my assurance of safety upon your person and guarantee of safe passage."

Coluber nodded solemnly and replied, "May I present my aides, Shrios, Kerubim and Ferrac you have already met."

Walkaq replied, "May I present my wife Grizelda, my Vizier Burtao, my Majordomo Xateral and my Chief-Factor Lertia."

Various heads among the Navigators bobbed but Ferrac didn't bother to memorise them. Fat, vacuous hangers-on and yes-men if he ever saw one. They had no power or influence, the only real potentate here was the Novator. Yet even as he thought this one other stood forth, a man not in robes but a tight bodyglove, draped with a short cape over one shoulder and a pair of Shuriken pistols on his hips. His face was tanned and he had a broad grin and uniquely in this crowd he possessed no third eye. He was completely human and for some reason was grinned broadly.

Walkaq coughed slightly then proclaimed, "Ah yes and this is my good friend and trading partner. May I present the famous Rogue Trader, Saffor Rodoth Teliday."


	40. Chapter 40

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 40**

"This is a mistake," Sergeant Excelsium growled over his vox-bead, "We should leave."

Ferrac heard the words in his ear and sub-vocalised, "Stay in your place."

Excelsium hissed back, "Coluber's made grievous error in coming here. You should talk to him, he listens to you."

"Chapter Master Coluber has given you an order," Ferrac growled, "You will obey."

"What was that?" came a mortal voice. It was the Rogue Trader Saffor, who was holding a plate of sweetmeats in his hand. Around him bustled the Navigator's court, who were bedecked in all their finery. The throneroom was a grand affair, gilded over every inch and filled with music and twittering gossip. Lady Navigators in totally impractical wigs and ball gowns whispered behind decorative fans while men in faux military uniforms or voluminous robes postured over buffet tables. Amongst that rabble the Amber Vipers loomed over the crowd, the two squads lining the walls, facing off against the House Huscarls, while the leaders mingled. Coluber was surrounded by flattering admirers, Kerubim was staring at the flights of cyber-cherubs overhead, playing small instruments and Shrios was locked in an argument with some form of Adept Biologis. Only Ferrac was unmolested, none wanting to stray too close to his glowering shadow, save for Saffor who seemed immune.

Ferrac realised the man was waiting for a response and muttered, "Merely wondering how much longer we must wait."

Saffor bit into a juicy treat, then dabbed the juice clean as he replied, "One must always respect local customs. On the world of Nuerth waving with the left hand is an incitement to a death duel, on Killart all greetings must be sung, on Populi touching the other gender for any purpose save reproduction is punishable by death… I left that planet pretty quickly I can tell you. But here on Braxia the guest arrives first and the host last, to create a casual atmosphere."

Ferrac growled, "You mean to establish dominance, by showing us he is able to make us wait."

"That too!" Saffor laughed, "The games of politics are universal."

Ferrac eyed the man and decided he did not like how much this mortal smiled as he spat, "And what brings a Rogue Trader here?"

"Excitement and adventure," Saffor demurred, "The scent of profit in the breeze."

Ferrac cocked his head and stated, "You don't fear me."

Saffor replied, "You're not my first Astartes, I've seen you boys in action before. Impressive in a fight, ill give you that, but you have no appreciation of the finer things. Life is there to be enjoyed."

Ferrac spat, "Life is pain and bloodshed, anyone who says different is selling something."

"We'll see," Saffor chortled as he wandered off, "We'll see."

Ferrac watched him go and muttered, "I don't trust him."

"Want me to kill him?" Excelsium voxed, "I have a perfect shot."

"Maybe later," Ferrac sub-vocalised, "There's something going on here and I want to know what it is."

Their conversation was cut off as a pair of side-doors opened to reveal Walkaq Chamandley, accompanied by his various hangers-on. The Novator had changed into glorious golden robes, that trailed behind him and his long train was carried by children with shaved heads, fresh brands and downcast eyes. All fell silent as the Novator marched to a large throne on a pedestal, which put him on an eye-level with a standing Astartes, and sat down. Ferrac noted his heir Mihas nearby, doubtless having been grilled by his father for everything he knew of the Amber Vipers. Then Coluber stepped forward, and Ferrac, Kerubim and Shrios followed.

Walkaq's wizened face was smiling warmly but it lacked sincerity and Ferrac could practically see the wheels turning as the Navigator proclaimed, "I am honoured to formally welcome my noble guests. Your arrival is most fortuitous, bringing my beloved son back from the grip of those vile pirates."

Ferrac was certain everybody in the room knew Mihas had been sent there by his father's order, but Coluber uttered, "The Amber Vipers are honoured to have been of assistance. We see this as more than random chance, I sense opportunity unfold before us, the possibility of a cooperative pact between us."

The crowd whispered loudly but Walkaq laughed, "Straight to the point, I like that. Very well I can be direct too: so what are you proposing?"

Coluber explained, "My Chapter has martial power, you have the ability to take me to war, we can benefit each other greatly."

Walkaq cocked his eyebrow as he ventured, "I understand you have 'acquired' other Navigators."

Troubled whispers emerged at the accusation but Coluber corrected, "They do not bring me what I need most: recognition. An alliance with House Chamandley would force other Imperial Institutions to accept my Chapter as a part of the Imperium."

"Strange that they do so not already," Walkaq mused.

Coluber replied quickly, "The Amber Vipers were officially destroyed by a warp storm two millennia ago, but a few of us survived. Emerging into this age of darkness, determined to restore our Chapter to glory."

Ferrac knew that was what the Chapter told outsiders, the fact it was pure fabrication was irrelevant, the truth of their origins was damning and best forgotten. Then Walkaq sniffed primly and said, "I could agree to such an alliance, in return for ten of your best men as my bodyguards."

Coluber's eyes narrowed as he said, "I am not placing my Marines under your command. I am not a Space Wolf and you are not so mighty as House Belisarius."

Walkaq feigned affront as he exclaimed, "You approached me, yet you refuse my reasonable terms!"

Coluber replied coolly, "There are a thousand Astartes Chapters in the galaxy but many times more Navigator Houses. Few among you can claim to have the Space Marines in your debt. That brings prestige and respect, hard currency in the corridors of power."

Walkaq sneered, "I lend you my bloodkin and in return you owe me a favour?"

Suddenly from the crowd Saffor stepped forth and said, "With respect Novator, I know something of the Astartes. A Chapter Master's word is his bond and a blood-debt amongst them is as strong as Adamantium. His Chapter would honour their debt for ten millennia, no matter the cost."

Coluber elaborated, "We can cooperate with you on certain ventures, lending our might to your cause. I can also offer guarantees of protection against your rivals. You may rest assured should another House move against you openly my retribution would be terrible to behold. The wrath of the Astartes is a powerful deterrent."

"Intriguing, those who chased us off Terra would quail in fear at our name," Walkaq mused, "But I had in mind something a little more… immediate."

Ferrac sensed a trap and growled, "What are you playing at?"

Walkaq gestured to the side and all eyes turned to see one of the side doors opening. Through it came a pair of gilded servitors dragging two golden biers. Yet Ferrac barely noticed them as his eyes fell upon the items resting upon the biers. Bare ceramite limbs, perfectly formed and unmarred, leading up to torsos and wide pauldrons. They were propped up by bulky backpacks, making them seem to be dozing with their helms resting in their chins. Power armour; two suits of Astartes power armour sitting right in front of them. Ferrac's mouth went dry and a sense of wonder filled him, along with a greedy surge of avarice. He instantly grasped the implications of this find, the raw potential bound within those suits. They were in nearly perfect condition, despite some minor wounds and could either increase Primus Cohort by two or be used to restore a score of lesser armours crying for refit. He glanced at Coluber and saw the same expression on his lord's face and Ferrac knew that no matter what the Amber Vipers would not be leaving this place without those armours.

Walkaq grinned, clearly knowing what effect his presentation was having and proclaimed, "Magnificent aren't they, take a closer look."

Coluber, Ferrac, Shrios and Kerubim drifted closer, none of them able to take their eyes off the inert plates. Ferrac examined the smooth ceramite and noted scraps of colour clinging to the edges, a red and yellow pattern, quartered across the body. He recognised the heraldry, for it was famous across the Imperium, and he stated, "Howling Griffons Chapter."

Shrios mused, "But how did they die?"

"Kerubim, examine these armours," Coluber ordered.

The Tech-adept complied, pulling a multi-spectrum augur from his belt and waving it over the power armours as he muttered, "Mark VII? No Mark VI. No organic remains within. Power cells are drained; these haven't been consecrated in decades, possibly centuries. Traces of vegetable matter in the joints, they were buried for a long time. The first's power cabling has been overloaded. The bearer was killed by some high-energy discharge of unknown pattern; it smote the warrior but left the armour intact. The other has been pierced at the joints by a crystalline material, possibly a projectile weapon… strange, there are still shards left in the wounds. All damage is repairable, Chapter Master these armours are viable."

Coluber rested a hand on a vambrace and said, "These suits will find a warm welcome among the Amber Vipers."

Kerubim looked up with concern as he protested, "The Howling Griffons will take great offence at the purloining of their blessed plate. They will expect these suits to be returned to them."

"Frak 'em," Shrios snorted, "These armours are ours now."

From across the room came the voice of Walkaq, "Take them with my blessings, a gift unto my new allies."

The Astartes looked up from their reverie and Coluber sounded suspicious as he queried, "You give them to us without extracting a price?"

Walkaq grinned deviously as he said, "Consider it a down-payment, a small part of your reward for joining us on an expedition."

Ferrac caught the implication and spat, "There are more where these came from?!"

Saffor replied merrily, "Oh yes, much more. I have recently returned from an expedition to a feral Xenos world. I went chasing an old legend and to my surprise I discovered I was not the first to seek out the glories of the past. I stumbled upon a battlefield, strewn with power armour, weapons and tanks. I've had some experience with Astartes so I recognised the value of this find immediately. Sadly, I was attacked before I could recover the bulk of the treasure trove, these two suits were all I was able to get off-world before my retinue was slaughtered."

Shrios probed eagerly, "More suits? Tanks? Rhinos, Predators, Land Speeders?"

Saffor nodded solemnly, "All that and more, perhaps a Company's worth of gear lying in the muck, waiting to be rescued."

Ferrac's head swam at the idea: proper Astartes equipment, not the shoddy make-do rubbish the Amber Vipers had to get by with. The raw potential of such a trove made his head ache, the sheer power such might could bring to the Chapter. Such a find could triple or quadruple their fighting strength. It was too good to pass up; they had to have that treasure, no matter who they had to kill to get it.

Coluber however sounded warier as he probed, "And what were a Company of Howling Griffons doing on feral Xenos backwater?"

Walkaq leaned back as he said, "They were chasing a legend, no, not even that, a rumour of a ghost of a myth. Ahhh, therein lies a tale. Tell me, what do you know of the First Diaspora?"

Ferrac frowned in confusion but Kerubim spoke up, "It is mentioned in the lore regarding the sacred STCs, supposedly predating the Dark of Technology. Cryptic references speak of an ancient Stellar Exodus from the womb of Holy Terra, of vast Long March starships and asteroid colony vessels that plied the galaxy, spreading the seeds of mankind far and wide. It is held that each ship carried a complete STC archive with them, so the colonists could benefit from all the knowledge and technology humanity had received from the Omnissiah."

Ferrac shook his head in disbelief and said, "A child's fairy tale, nothing more."

Yet Saffor interjected, "Not so, for some time I have been chasing rumours of a phantom. Legends of a distant planet and Voidfarer's bar-talk that spoke of a lost colony ship, crashing into the forests of an arboreal world some call Athelling. Many have sought to find the source of these myths, but none of them came back from the quest for Athelling. But I found it, I have trod there and I tell you the legends are true."

Ferrac snorted, "You expect me to believe that?"

However Coluber countered, "The important thing is the Howling Griffons believed it. Even if there is nothing else there the source of these armours is worth pursuing."

Walkaq beamed as he proclaimed, "Then we have an accord, you will go to Athelling and find the lost ship. Saffor will be my agent in this, he knows better than to cross me."

Saffor feigned indignation as he scoffed, "I am hurt you think I wouldn't keep to my bargains."

Walkaq's smile faded, revealing a cold glare as he growled, "Remember your debt, lest I call in your marker."

Shrios butted in then to say, "So we get the armour and you get… what?"

"Whatever the lost ship contains," Walkaq replied, "Archeotech, lost star maps, weapons… maybe even an STC archive."

Ferrac suddenly understood why the Navigator was so interested in a myth. STC's were priceless technology beyond the understanding of the finest Imperial scholars, able to design and build anything one required. The colonists had carried with them designs for everything from tractors and water pumps to starships and macro-cannons. Almost everything the Imperium used derived from STC lore, one way or another. A fully functional STC archive was the holy grail of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the tech-priests of Mars would pay any price for even a scrap of STC output, any price imaginable. Famously an STC template had once been uncovered once and the discoverers had been given planets to rule over and it only made knives. The worth of a single page of STC output could catapult House Chamandley back into the circles of Imperial power, but a complete archive could reshape the galaxy itself.

Coluber drew himself up and declared, "The Amber Vipers pledge themselves to this expedition, we will join your forces and uncover the secrets of the past."

Walkaq nodded in triumph as he said, "I shall provide Huscarls and war machines from my own pocket to aid you."

The crowd seemed delighted but Ferrac stepped in to say, "Wait… one question remains to be answered. Who are these Xenos inhabiting Athelling? Who defends the lost starship and defeated the mighty warriors of the Howling Griffons?"

Saffor answered him directly, "The Eldar. Athelling is a maiden world belonging to the Eldar breed known as Exodites."


	41. Chapter 41

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 41**

The song of the forest was everywhere, filling the universe with its timeless melody. It carried to the perfect blue sky and echoed in the depths below. The song was composed from the rustle of branches and the creaking of trunks, the skittering of insects and the chirping of birds and small creatures. He could feel it tussling his long hair and caressing his skin, touching his pale limbs with the cadence of life itself. It was the music of nature, the harmony of the cycles of life and death and bound within it were the voices of all his ancestors. To Elhyn it sounded beautiful.

Elhyn was clinging to the branches of a Wythlwood tree, the tallest type found in the Everforest. He could feel its ancient spirit thrum under his hands and feet, each passing of a season nothing but a heartbeat to the venerable tree. The coarse bark scratched his palms but not in an unpleasant way, it was a natural pain, honest and pure, grounding him in the world but not enticing him. He clung tightly as his eyes surveyed the horizon, taking in the world. In every direction stretched a sea of green leaves, his elevated position letting him peer over the territory of his kinband and beyond. His preternaturally sharp eyes picked out the hunting grounds of his people and their enclave, hidden so well none not of his race could have detected it. Further out could be seen the Sacred Glades, the Copses of the Dead and the Aries of the Drakes, the Laughing Woods and the dark smear of dead and warped trees that was the Vale of Midnight Tears. A gash in the canopy revealed the Glynsmere River, in its sharp canyon, and in the distance loomed the snow-capped Mountains of Silent Contemplation. He could see it all, even the border between his Kinband, the Wind-dancers, and their greatest rivals, the Kraken-riders kinband. He knew every inch of his people's territory; he had been everywhere and embraced it all as his own.

Elhyn was slim and wiry, his body hardened by life. His limbs were long and his fingers calloused but there was no hint of weakness in his grip and his eyes were clear. His face was narrow and pointed, with a sharp chin and hawkish eyebrows that gave him a predatory expression, yet his lip was quick to curl in joy. Laughter came easily to him as did joy and sorrow and rage. His attire was woven from cotton-leaves and sinew-twine and on his back was a spear with a thorn-tipped end. Woad markings ran under his eyes and upon his breast shone a spirit stone, bound to him by Drakeheart sinew, the strongest material known on Athelling.

Elhyn watched the forest below waiting for the sign, but a sharp shuffling beside him drew his eye away. Perched on the branch next to him was an impressive blue drake, some thirty hands long from the tip of his whip-like tail to the hard bone ridges of his snout. His two wings were sturdy membranes of skin, stretched over long bony fingers and his claws boasted long talons that dug into the branch hard enough to break a prey animal in half. A long neck ended in a sharp head, encased in a bone mask that sported stubby horns and a wide maw with filled with sharp fangs. This was Ilfavor, a Chshrss, or 'short-horn' drake and he had been Elhyn's partner for many a season.

Ilfavor was restless, fluttering his broad wings and clacking his snout repeatedly. Elhyn reached out his hand and placed it upon the drake's neck and opened his mind to their connection. Like all of his race he possessed innate psychic abilities and his kin had trained themselves to commune with the beasts of the forests and the spirits of the trees. Ilfavour's mind was like a flint arrowhead, hard, direct and focused the mind of a predator, and as such he and Elhyn suited each other perfectly.

Through the communion Ilfavour cawed, "Hunt. Hunt now."  
"Patience brave friend," Elyhn said out loud, his speech helping his mind project the words, "The prey must be flushed out before we move."

Ilfavor was not pleased by the response and crowed, "More prey towards the sun."  
Elhyn grinned as he sent, "Not the right kind of prey, we hunt rarer game this day."  
Ilfavor was not placated as he replied, "Hunt now. Eat. Bring meat to roost."

Elhyn's grin faded as a guilty impulse arose. He was tasked with leading the hunt for his kinband, bringing them sustenance and patrolling their realm from raiders and poachers. Technically he should not be here, he should be seeking out easier game but he had scented an opportunity too good to ignore. A grand prize waiting for a bold soul to claim it. Plus the thrill of the chase was something he had never been able to pass up, no matter that some lectured him on his responsibilities. Suddenly there arose a tremendous ruckus in the canopy below, the sea of green swaying as if a great wave was passing through it, accompanied by a sibilant hissing and the clicking of mandibles. Instantly Elhyn was moving, leaping onto Ilfavour's broad back and clinging to his ridged shoulders. Not for them a crude saddle or harness, Elhyn held on with the sure grip of one who had flown the skies for a hundred cycles of the seasons.

His sharp eyes saw the wave was almost upon them and he fixed his gaze upon the spot he had chosen, then when the moment was right he urged Ilfavour to spread his wings and dive from their perch. The wind smote his face with icy daggers and a sense of weightlessness came over him as they dove for the canopy and Elhyn grinned at the rushing sensations overcoming him. The green sea of furlwood trees and weeping boughs rushed up at them, promising death from a thousand cuts, but at the last second Ilfavour pulled in his wings and bowed his head, placing his bony crest to the fore. Elhyn tucked in tight and held on as they crashed into the branches, only to smash straight through. The pair had aimed their dive to perfection, breaking through at the furthest gap between trees, where the green leaves were little more than a thin veil betwixt the sky and the ground. Elhyn felt a jolt as his drake's crest broke through the thin twigs and leaves, then they emerged into a world of dappled light and air.

Below the canopy was a soaring cathedral of greenery, held up by thick trunks each a hundred metres in width and a vertical kilometre in height. They were widely spaced, with far-spreading branches that forced their rivals to stand far away and cast the sunlight into slatted bars of gold amid a gloomy world of greenery. Far, far below the forest floor was thick with brush, teeming with the small lives of insects and those who preyed upon them. It was an enclosed universe, trapped between the canopy above and the tangled brush below. Ilfavour pulled out of his dive, having more than enough room to soar on his broad wings while the trees were far enough apart for him to fly between with little impediment.

Elhyn was entranced by the dappled light and the strong scents of sap and mulch that permeated this world. He felt dew clinging to his face and arms while his ears heard the trilling of a million lifeforms going about their lives. He was no longer listening to the song of Athelling, he was a part of it. Yet his eyes spied something far more interesting, a wave of white rushing along the underside of the canopy. They came in a scurrying mass, each with eight long limbs fighting for space, and swollen abdomens ten hands long and clicking mandibles. Dizzying patterns shone upon their hides, which were hardened like a shell and they had many eyes that did not blink. Their chatter was part clacking and part telepathic whispering, a hypnotic miasma that could attract prey into the webs. Crystal spiders: fleeing across the canopy.

Behind them came their pursuers, figures who like Elhyn rode drakes under the canopy. First came a tall warrior with a mighty bronzebark bow, the stout material storing immense strength in its form, beyond most of the kinband's ability to wield. It was held by a warrior of unusually broad shoulders and thick arms, Panthiro, strongest of the kinband. He rode Gafyor, a fierce drake of bronzed hue and long fangs, a Ypyrps or 'Copperhead' breed famed for their mighty pinions. To his left rode M'sgith, a lithe and sinuous warrior with woad dash-markings over her arms and legs. She swung a lash of drake's tail in one hand and laughed as she drove the crystal spiders before her. To the right rode E'raye, her black-haired twin sister, identical in every way save her woad described swirls upon her body. She was throwing Bartani pine nuts at the spiders, charged by her mind's touch to shatter and spray razor-sharp shards everywhere and her keen eye let her pick the right spots every time. The twins rode grey-marked drakes, V'lor and B'lor, a pair of Chyshrt or 'Shadowtails', famed for their agility and quietness.

Elhyn could see his packmates had driven the spiders from their den and sent them scurrying, yet his eyes fell upon the largest and most ferocious of the spider-kind. A single beast loomed over the rest, bigger than any Drake, with fangs as long as his arm. The mother of the nest, their wellspring and leader: Drachindar. Elhyn saw the crystal spider racing upside-down on the canopy, driven from her maze of webs by the swooping hunters, but far from defeated.

He raised his spear in one hand and cried, "Drachindar! She comes!"

Panthiro shot an arrow into her hide but it merely bounced off her thick carapace as he yelled, "We can't wound her!"

"Leave that to me," Elhyn shouted, "Keep her young at bay."

With a mental impulse he compelled Ilfavor to fly higher and the drake complied, beating his wings to fly faster. The crystal spiders saw them coming and reared up, spraying strands of sticky webs from their maws. Should they catch the drake in flight then they would tangle his wings and cause him to crash down to the forest floor a mile below but Ilfavor was a cunning beast. He snatched his wings in and plummeted below the strands, causing them to miss entirely. Elhyn's stomach rose into his throat as they fell but a moment later Ilfavor spread his wings, the increased speed causing them to soar upwards once more at an even greater velocity. A moment later a flurry of arrows, shards and whiplashes caused the spiders to resume their flight, fleeing in all directions.

Elhyn was left alone, heading straight at Drachindar, who shrieked defiance at him. Her many eyes fixed upon him and he felt a wave of her hypnotic power wash over him, her alien psyche touching his. Yet he was born of high-blood and his mind was proof against such attacks. He grinned as they flew straight at the giant spider and bellowed, "Faster! Faster my friend!" The drake beat his wings and they flew at the monster like an arrow sprung from the bow. Drachindar realised her attack was failing and opened her maw to spray webbing at the closing pair but it too late. Elhyn saw his opening and his arm struck, casting his spear straight into her maw. The strike was pure and true, flying into the open maw and striking deep within her throat. Drachindar convulsed as her throat was torn, she wailed and thrashed in agony and in doing so lost her grip on the canopy. The giant crystal spider fell from the heavens, plummeting downwards as her eight legs thrashed and her wails grew thin and reedy. Elhyn followed her down, looping lazily upon his drake. It took a long time to fall the whole kilometre, Athelling's gravity was marginal, but the outcome of the drop was still inevitable. Elhyn saw Drachindar smash into the forest floor, her carapace shattering upon an exposed root. Maybe the spear cast killed her or maybe the impact did but she quickly went still as her legs drew up in a death curl.

Ilfavor set down on the mulchy ground as Elhyn leapt free and raced to the corpse of the spider. Already teeming insects were racing to feast on the corpse and he knew in minutes far more dangerous predators would scent the kill. His heart thrummed with urgency but respects to the fallen had to be offered, as was his people's way. As Drachindar's black eyes went milky white he knelt before her and whispered, "Honours to you, mother of the brood. Your life I claim for the kinband, in return I offer our thanks and praise. May your essence return to the World Spirit, to be reborn in the next cycle of time."

There was soft thump as the other drakes settled down and their riders joined him. M'sgith was the first to speak, "A fine cast and a swift kill."

Elhyn nodded in thanks, "A good hunt indeed."

Yet Panthiro snorted, "Not the right one, we should be bringing back meat and furs, not chasing glory."

E'raye glared at him and said, "What game would be left if we did not meet this threat head-on? The crystal spiders already drove much of our herds away; they disrupt the harmony of the Everforest."

Panthiro frowned as he said, "Which is why the whole kinband should have come. You know our Dynast forbade us to chase Drachindar without her leave."

Elhyn grinned as he replied, "You let me worry about my mother, she won't punish me for this. Not when we bring back our prizes."

With that he stood up and marched up to the spider's corpse. He stepped past a curling leg and reached into her dead maw. His hand found what he sought and with a yank he pulled free a crystal fang, as long as his forearm, flecked with green veins and razor-sharp. It shimmered like a living thing, still growing and renewing itself and he held it up to the light as he proclaimed, "With these we shall forge weapons like no other, when they see our prizes the Wind-Dancers shall dance the Dance of Joy!"


	42. Chapter 42

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 42**

His options were limited and they were all bad. His offensive had been broken and his defence was wide open. The opposing army was advancing on his centre with ruthless determination, driving a lance into the heart of him. His most precious assets were exposed and vulnerable and his attempts to avert his doom had fallen short. There was no two ways about it: he was losing. Saffor had no other choice save to pick up his white Cardinal and move it across the checkered board to cover his Sovereign. A moment later a slim and manicured hand picked up a black Astartes and moved it boldly across the board right into his centre as a cool and aloof voice declared, "Checkmate."

Saffor sadly tipped his sovereign over and said, "Well played."

Across from him a tall woman with long black tresses and high cheekbones spat primly and said, "Not so well, You're distracted."

This was Melisandre, one of his concubines. As one might expect she was a haughty beauty, with a ruthless eye and a sharp wit, the perfect nobleman's paramour. She could look like a queen when she wore her full finery and jewels, but today she was clad in a comfortable robe that removed a layer of her icy demeanour. Melisandre had a mind like a razor, keen and sharp, her gift for strategy was matched only by her skill for rooting out crooked numbers in a deal, or inserting them when it suited Saffor.

They were currently sitting in his private quarters, located deep within his flagship, the Fortune's Fool. The quarters were large and filled with the prizes of his many and varied adventures. There were rugs from Inwit and rare animal heads upon the walls. Cabinets filled with Jonquil and Amasec, game boards from a dozen cultures and fine clothes in the latest High Necromundian fashions. A variety of Xenos weapons hung in display cases, though not his favourite Shuriken pistols which he kept within an arms reach, he had endured punishing lessons about the need to keep them close at hand. The ship itself was just as eclectic, modified and adapted over a millennium of service. The Fortune's Fool has served the Teliday line since they had been issued their Warrant of Trade and Saffor had inherited it from his parents, along with his middle name 'Rodoth', which he was less thankful for.

Saffor leaned back in a priceless hand-carved chair from burnt Tanith and said, "I'm just wondering how much longer this voyage will take."

Melisandre demurely reset the board as she remarked, "House Chamandley granted us their best Navigators, but the voyage is long, it took months last time. We will get there when we get there."

From across the room another voice called, "It's the Warp, who knows how anything works in the Immaterium."

That was Messina, a sister to Melisandre. She was a beautiful singer, in every sense of the word, able to entrance and beguile with her voice. Her skill was surpassed only by her knack at ferreting out secrets, she could get men to tell her anything and then walk away not realising they had just spilled their agendas. Saffor appreciated her cunning and guile, almost as much as he admired her long blonde tresses. She was idly playing with a lute in the corner, tuning its strings as she continued, "Are we sure returning to Athelling is a good idea?"

Melisandre concurred, "You barely got out alive last time, most of your guards didn't make it."

Saffor dismissed their concerns, saying, "I was unprepared last time. This time I have hundreds of Huscarls and transports with me, thanks to Walkaq Chamandley. If that's not enough I have my new allies, the Amber Vipers will prove more than a match for those feral Eldar."

Messina looked up as she questioned, "Why bother to go in all guns blazing? You've traded with Eldar before, why be so belligerent this time?"

Saffor touched his pistols, feeling the warm Wraithbone contours caress his skin, as he replied, "If that was an option don't you think I would have done it already? The feral breed are isolationists, they had no interest in trade. Not even for free passage through their forest. The starship isn't even theirs, but they really don't want anyone going near it. I can't imagine why, there can't be anything in there of any value to them."

Melisandre cocked an eyebrow as she replied, "If this ancient colony ship is as valuable as you say then you should think about your future. Maybe even start approaching a noble family about marriage."

Saffor sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes as he replied, "Not this again, I told you I don't want to be tied down. Besides no noble lady would welcome you three sharing her husband."

Melisandre countered, "Pick the right family and they wouldn't care, on some worlds it's practically expected for a noble wife to choose her husband's consorts. We certainly wouldn't mind another face around here."

Messina chimed in, "Too right, there's been nobody to talk to since Inquisitor Vevara departed. You're pleasant enough company but we can't talk to the crew, not really talk, and fleecing brainless merchants and Governors gets stale and repetitive."

Saffor spread his arms and generously said, "How about this, when we finish here I take you to a Garden world. You can walk on real soil and feel the warm sun on your faces, maybe even meet some other companions accompanying rich nobles and talk where their idiot paramours can't hear you."

His concubines didn't argue and Saffor thought for a second his promise had won him this round but then Messina said, "You should be wary about your new allies."

Saffor grinned cockily as he replied, "The Amber Vipers? I can handle them."

Messina retorted, "That's what you said about Inquisitor Zerban, and he nearly got you killed and stole the ship from us."

Saffor countered, "Space Marines aren't half as bright as he was. Mighty warriors yes, but they have all the subtly of a beating a Grot to death with a plank of wood. They will play their part and win us riches beyond compare."

Another voice arose then, proclaiming, "I think you're underestimating the danger, these Amber Vipers aren't nearly as warm and cuddly as the Storm Heralds were."

That was Merisa, the youngest and most fair of the sisters. She had a dancer's grace and a keen eye for antiquities, often seeing the worth of items Saffor would dismiss as junk. With her long gingery locks and athletic build she was Saffor's favourite concubine, though he knew enough of women to never let them know that. The trio had been born and raised in the flesh markets of Pascum, groomed to be nothing but ornaments to the rich and bored. Saffor claimed he had saved them from a life of denigration at the hands of a lecherous cardinal but in truth it had been their idea to run off with him. He had been wary of making so important an enemy but their sharp intellects and subtle cunning had made him see they were worth far more than they had been trained to be, so he had agreed to their plan. They had since made an arrangement, he provided them with luxury and safety and they played the role of 'Captains Women' in public, partly to impress dignitaries and partly to keep the hands of his crew at bay, no voidfarer would dare touch the Captain's Concubines. It was a highly profitable arrangement, his vast wealth owed no small part to these three and after a few years they'd even unthawed enough to invite him into their beds.

Saffor shook his head as he protested, "Space Marines are all alike, obsessed with fighting and honour. They'd charge a million Orks head-on if a ten-thousand year old book told them to, but ask them to put poison in a goblet and they get all squeamish. It's like dealing with a child's image of a warrior, all bold shouting and waving guns about, everything else has been cut out of them."

Melisandre didn't sound convinced as she said, "I think you underestimate them, I've watched the recordings you made and listened to the conversation. These Space Marines are different, dangerous even."

Saffor had indeed been discretely recording the presentation in the Navigator's palace, one never knew when such things could come in handy. He had showed the results to his companions and it seemed they had something to say on the matter. Messina explained, "That Apothecary is without principles, he has no loyalty to anything. The tech-adept is a wide-eyed boy, inherently unpredictable and that warrior with the axe is loyal only to his lord, he'd cross any line, betray any alliance to protect his master."

Saffor wasn't impressed and scoffed, "You just described every Space Marine in the galaxy, they'd all kill on command. That Coluber has them in hand."

Yet Messina argued, "Their leader is the most dangerous one of all, he has power but worse than that he has a vision. He's not content with his lowly lot, he dreams of taking his order to greatness. He has the drive to make his Chapter the equal of any other, that kind of ambition is dangerous, he wants more than he has and will do anything to get it."

Saffor grinned as he quipped, "Wouldn't we all?

Melisandre frowned as she spat, "Will you be serious for a second?! We're trying to tell you this could go badly wrong, you're taking a huge risk."

Saffor's grin faded as he said, "I know it's dangerous but there is no profit without risk. Think of the reward, think of the archeotech we could recover. Priceless treasures from antiquity, marvels beyond compare."

Merisa cocked a delicate eyebrow as she queried, "Priceless?"

Now Saffor did laugh as he replied, "Maybe not priceless, I intend to set an exorbitantly high price tag on what I recover. I will be the richest Teliday who ever lived, wealthy beyond my parent's dreams. I could buy a fleet of starships with the reward I will demand."

It was a nice dream but Messina softly cautioned, "Don't forget the Chamandley House, Walkaq will want his share and more."

Saffor sighed, "I do owe him, he won't let me forget that. But worry not there's more than enough riches to go around. We will all come out of this covered in glory."

Melisandre's eyes narrowed as she spat, "Only if you come back alive."

Saffor cocked his head as he quipped, "Don't I always?"

Messina shook her head and said, "It's no use, he won't listen. He'll do what he always does, stick his head in the noose and dare the universe to hang him."

Melisandre stood up and Saffor's grin faded as she spat, "We won't waste words arguing, we're going to bed. Without you."

With that the sisters stood up and marched out, leaving Saffor at the desk all alone. Yet before she left the room Merisa paused and looked at him with concern as she said, "Promise me this, if things go bad then you won't lose your head and play the hero. If it comes down to you or your allies you'll take care of yourself first."

Saffor laughed at that, "Is that what's got you all so worked up, thinking that I'll contract a bout of foolish heroism? You don't have to worry on that count, if there's one thing Saffor Teliday does well, it's look out for Number one."

Merisa smiled and departed, leaving Saffor to dream of the riches that awaited him on Athelling. He wasn't sure how this was going to go but he was certain he'd find some way to turn it to his advantage. In a pinch he excelled at winging it, it had always worked for him before. No matter what Saffor intended to come out of this adventure on top.


	43. Chapter 43

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 43**

The air whistled past as they flew, rushing over his skin and hissing in his ears. The dappled light strobed in his eyes, golden beams penetrating the canopy in random spots to illuminate the twilight underworld between the forest roof and the underbrush a kilometre below. Ilfavor coasted easily between the great trunks of the trees, his wingspan untroubled by the occasional tree in their way. He soared around them without issue, the occasional rare beat of his leathery wings propelling him higher and further.

In formation behind followed Panthiro, E'raye and M'sgith, all flying in his slipstream. They each bore woven sacks filled with crystal spider remains, the hardened carapaces being of great value to the kinband. Yet nothing could compare to the worth of Drachindar's fangs, those precious crystalline shards the trio had defied their Dynast to capture. Despite his cavalier dismissal Elhyn knew he would be in trouble for this day's work, even being a son of the ruling matriarch did not excuse one from certain responsibilities. Yet he was certain that his trove would avert any censure, few indeed could claim to have acquired such treasures.

The wan daylight was just starting to fade when he spied their destination, a thick brush of leaves and branches, cunningly woven together to make a screen among the canopy. To any not born of the Everforest it would seem to be nothing, but to Elhyn it was the welcome sight of home. He urged Ilfavor closer and then at the last second they veered left, flying into an almost invisible opening in the screen. A green wall enveloped him and then they emerged into a wide sphere of living branches. Inside lay a village, woven out of the branches and boughs. Suspended high above the forest floor were walkways sculpted out of branches while homes were fashioned into cavities in trunks and fungal glowglobes hung from high above, casting a welcoming aura over the village. There was no hint of sawn wood or tool markings on any surface, everything had been fashioned from living materials, leaves and wood encouraged to grow in the desired shapes. The village existing among the foiliage without harming the trees themselves, a three-dimensional puzzle as intricate as it was sturdy. Smells of cooking and sap were all pervasive and the sounds of merry laughter rang freely among the homes of the kinband. There were no handholds or safety ropes, no Eldar could lose their footing in such an environment, not even the youngest of their race.

Elhyn urged his drake towards a broad landing area and they settled down with a soft thump. Ilfavor fluttered his wings and snapped his beak as the rider dismounted and took down his bag. Elhyn pressed his hand to his Drake's neck and said, "I thank you my friend."

Ilfavor's mind crooned, "Hungry. Hunt now."

Elhyn smiled warmly and replied, "Go and eat, you earned it."

The drake stomped about and spread his wings, then dove off the platform and soared away, leaving the village behind as he went searching for prey. The other drakes followed him, leaving the four warriors standing on the platform with their heavy sacks. Panthiro shook his head and commented, "It is nearly nightfall, we will have been missed."

E'raye replied, "Worlds spin and the seasons pass, yet the song remains ever the same."

Elhyn understood what she meant; he could feel the pulse of the village through his people's psychic gift. The Wind-dancers existence was defined by a shared rhythm, the collective heartbeat of their spirits conjoined. They lived and died to that rhythm, they worked and they played and they hunted and danced in tune to a harmony only they could perceive. It was mixed with the aura of the Everforest, in tune with its world-girdling reaches and beyond it the ancient whisper of the World Spirit, that pool of collective psychic essence that housed their ancestor's souls.

Elhyn set off into the village, holding his prizes carefully and as they walked they passed various members of the kinband. They were passing their days as they always did, gathering, communing, weaving and singing. Here an old couple weaved about each other in their daily routines, their movement honed over centuries to appear as a perfect ballet. There a Wood-weaver was channelling the spirits of the trees, her arms raised high as the boughs shifted and grew into new forms under his gentle guidance. In one corner three children played a game, throwing knives at a target twenty metres away yet hitting the centre every time, while claiming this was too easy. In a far corner a pair of new lovers sneaked away to share their bodies, their subtly marred by the excitement their spirits were leaking into the aura of the village.

M'sgith breathed deeply and said, "The rhythm is pleasing, the eternal song sounds free and clear."

Elhyn nodded as he agreed, "The forest is truth and harmony, so unlike the rigid order of our craftworld kin."

Panthiro cocked an eyebrow as he queried, "You have met craftworlders? You never said that."

Elhyn shrugged, "A delegation came to trade with my mother some two hundred cycles ago, our natural bounty for wraithbone items and Spirit Stones. In truth it was boring, the craftworlders cling to ancient protocols and courtly manners, forms of greeting and exchange that were outmoded before the Fall. They try to hold the past in their hands and deny the present, as if they can turn back the universe by sheer will."

E'raye concurred, "I remember it well, the craftworlders live in terror of their own nature, they fear She Who Thirsts will come for them in the night. Their rigid order and narrow Paths are nothing but an attempt to deny their own hearts, to cut out their connection to the Folly of Our Ancestors."

M'sgith agreed, "We of Athelling do not need the Paths, for our spirits are in accord with nature. We live and love and laugh freely, balanced by our harmony with the world. Athelling protects us from the decadence of the Fall or the corruption of our Dark Kin in Commorragh. We alone can claim to still be what our ancestors were before their corruption."

Panthiro sniffed dismissively as he said, "Still, I would like to have met them. A shuriken lance would be a fine tool to own, I think I could endure a life of solemnity for such a weapon."

Elhyn grinned as he needled, "Were you born on a Craftworld then I am sure you would have become an Aspect Warrior, their lives are even more restricted than any. Would you really want to be told when to eat and sleep and dance and fight by some ancient half-dead warrior Exarch?"

"No," Panthiro snorted in amusement, "As much as it annoys me, I do enjoy your adventures."

Their journey had taken them to the centre of the village and they found themselves approaching a single tree, larger and more ancient than any other. Its pitted bark was grey with age and knotty from the elements but it still pulsed with life. Its hundred metre wide trunk was covered in ancient symbols and esoteric runes and it rose through the centre of the village like the supporting column of a vast cathedral. It was the Brspyi, the heart tree of the village and the foundation upon which the Wind-dancers had built their home. High above a slender platform described the dwelling of the Dynast, where his mother held her court like a sovereign among lesser races, but further down was black opening, a doorway shaped into the heart of the tree.

Elhyn heard sibilant whispers in the midnight depths, the unearthly language of the dead filling the cavity, yet he was not daunted by the past. He set his shoulders square and stepped within, passing under the archway with barely a quiver in his step. A cold sensation clung to his skin as he entered, like stepping under a waterfall and the whispers became a roar of static, but then he was inside and the momentary shudder faded as he gazed upon the interior. It resembled a large cave buried into the structure of the tree, emptying out its centre without diminishing or weakening the structure. The cavern rose many levels above, filled with falling vines of ivy, till it disappeared into a gloom even Elhyn's eye could not penetrate. Small alcoves in the walls held many strange and ancient artefacts: clay jars of rare herbs, wraithbone devices from the Craftworlds, a Kraken's horn, the eye of a Negart, Longstrider spurbones and the tusks of a Leviatathus. The place thrummed with power, the World Spirit flowing through the chamber in a vibrant cascade, yet there were two things that drew Elhyn's attention. The first was a green flame in the very centre of the cavern, burning without any visible fuel, rising from the living wood without harming it. The other was a slender arch of Wraithbone, that looked totally out of place in this environment. A Webway portal leading to realms beyond Athelling, promising the wonders and dangers of an entire galaxy.

Elhyn was surprised when a shrill voice cried out, "The shadows grow long when you sully my door with your presence!" His eyes rose and he beheld a slim figure high above, hanging amid the ivy vines. She was thin and pale, even by Eldar standards, with a hawkish face and black hair that hung down to her ankles. She was clad in robes woven entirely of feathers and her skin was daubed with eldritch runes that shone in the darkness with a light that owed nothing to reflection. She was descending regally, the vines surging forward to place themselves at her naked feet like a staircase forming out of nothing, then dissolving behind her. This was Laegwen, the Wind-Dancer's Treesinger, guardian of the Webway and she whom dedicated herself solely to communing with the World Spirit. The Dynast may rule the kinband but the Treesinger was the song of Athelling made manifest. The Everforest was her ally and she knew its mysteries like no other. She also happened to be Elhyn's older sister.

Elhyn grinned as she alighted to the floor and said, "Hail fair Laegwen, most beloved sister."

"The morning mists hold more substance than your words!" Laegwen spat angrily, "Where have you been?!"

"Surely the Everforest has told you," Elhyn replied airily.

Elhyn couldn't help but smirk at his sister's look of consternation, for all her mysterious aura he could still provoke her like they were squabbling babes of no more than fifty cycles. Laegwen scowled as she spat, "You were tasked with leading the hunt, yet our kin had to hunt the migrating Grawel-beasts without your direction."

Elhyn lifted his sack as he replied, "I found a better quarry."

Laegwen snatched the sack and peered within then gasped, "You slew Drachindar!"

M'sgith interjected, "We did, the crystal spider's mother is returned to the World Spirit."

"And what of her young?" Laegwen retorted, "Did you slay them all or scatter them to the wind?"

Silence was the only reply and Laegwen hissed, "You fools, you lanced one boil only to spread the poison further, instead of one threat we could isolate and contain we now have a thousand running across our lands."

Elhyn lifted a single fang and said, "But with weapons made of this we can deal with anything. Spider fangs can make the most potent spears and arrows."

Laegwen spat in contempt, "You defy your role and then expect me to summon the World Spirit for you."

Panthiro spoke up then, "Treesinger, you seem distressed."

Laegwen softened slightly as she said, "Panthiro, at least you can see beyond your own nose. Yes, I am vexed. Old Betthaa has passed from the realms of the living."

Elhyn started in shock and exclaimed, "He died on the hunt?!"

Yet Laegwen sighed, "Rest easy, it was not your absence that caused this, it was merely his time. Betthaa had seen many thousands of cycles pass and death for him came in the stillness of the night.

Elhyn was dumbfounded but Panthiro uttered, "Such is the cycle of life and death. He shall pass unto the World Spirit but we must remain among the living and remember our burden. Athelling is our sanctuary but it is also our responsibility, the dead look to the living to protect and nurture it."

For once Elhyn agreed and said, "Let us focus on what we have and what we can make from these."

Laegwen glared at him but then took up the longest fang and examined it saying, "These fangs are the purest crystal, sharp as the longstrider claw and strong as Drake heartstring."

Elhyn pressed her, "A powerful tool, but it can be more."

Laegwen was lost in her examination as she mused, "Yes… so much more."

Suddenly she turned and strode away, her mind elsewhere. Gone was his sister and in her place was the Treesinger. A rod of wood arose from the floor and broke away in her grasp, the tree providing her with the tools she needed. She inserted the fang on the end, creating a spear and then she marched up to the green flame and plunged her hands within. Her voice arose, singing an ancient song with cadences beyond those Eldar ears could discern. Elhyn felt the World Spirit stirring at her call, responding to her incantation and the souls of his ancestors flocked nearer, drawn to her voice. Depthless power surged in the flames, forming arcane patterns and mystical shapes as Laegwen's flesh shone with the touch of eternity.

Everybody stepped back in awe but Laegwen was still as stone for long minutes. Power moved in the chamber and then she spun about and cried, "It is done!" The spear had been changed by the ritual, merging wood and fang into one inseparable whole. The fang shone with green light, the power of the World Spirit bound within its crystal structure. It was alive, filled with a life force all its own.

Laegwen presented the spear to her brother and proclaimed, "Within this weapon is bound the soul of our world, it resonates to the song of Athelling. Nothing can resist its touch, it will leave shards behind with every blow, yet the weapon shall not diminish or dull with use. It will remain sharp and whole as long as the World Spirit endures. Take it and use it for the Wind-dancers with pride… all it needs is a name."

Elhyn took the spear with awe and felt the pulse of life bound within it, the green flames within filling his eyes with vital power. His hand gripped the shaft firmly and he breathed, "Wrymfang, this is Wyrmfang."


	44. Chapter 44

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 44**

Night had fallen and the world of green and gold under the canopy became a thick and cloying blackness, lit only by luminous mosses and rare glimpse of starlight through the branches. The harmonies of day faded, to be replaced with the notes of notional activity. The great trees ceased reaching for the warm sun and settled into dormancy, their boughs growing heavy with sap. The chirping of birds was replaced with the thrumming of moths and the gentle hooting of soft winged oulsus birds. The underbrush rustled with surging insects and tiny predators, while snapping tanglevines and meat eating whipbulbs sent their lashes darting out to catch unwary prey. Larger predators unfurled from their dens, hungry Jaquars and slinking Maccats stalked the darkness. Sinuous atters coiled around trees, scenting the air with forked tongues and hypnotic Dewmaidens lured in any foolish enough to listen.

The Everforest in daytime was a vibrant and vital thing, dangerous yes, but also wonderful. At night it became a wholly different world. Shadows moved in strange ways and the air hung heavily on the back of the neck. To set foot upon the ground was risky at the best of times but in the midnight gloom even the mightiest warrior was reduced to mere prey. Yet sometimes one must accept the risks, somethings were too important to ignore.

In a natural clearing of the Everforest arose a mound of rough stones. They seemed to be a random pile of boulders, forcing the trees aside, but appearances were deceiving. The mound had been carefully sculpted by fey hands, creating a natural appearance that hid the cunning barrow structure within. Lines of power ran through the mound, forming a complex knot of energies that sank deep within the loamy earth. Everything about this place had been meticulously planned, right down to its location atop a confluence of leylines. This was a Sacred Glade, a place where the World Spirit touched the living world and it was here that the Kinband came to lay their dead to rest.

Elhyn was standing upon a boulder, holding aloft a fungal glowglobe set atop a wooden stave. All around the barrow the Wind-Dancers stood in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Every one of them had shed their casual attire and donned rough robes of coarse leaf, black in hue, making them midnight silhouettes under the blaze of their lamps. These were ceremonial robes of mourning, they were seldom used for Eldar lives were long but when the time came they were always ready. Elhyn found them uncomfortable to wear, not only for their chafing material but for the reminder of mortality they forced upon him. Unto all things there was a season and his springtime was coming to an end. Soon the full summer bloom of adulthood would fall upon him, with all its responsibilities and from there it was a long slow descent into the autumn of maturity and the winter of dotage. Elhyn didn't want to think of such things, he wanted to be elsewhere, training with Wrymfang, but even he dare not defy the sacred rituals of his people.

The stillness of the night was broken as the Drakes perched in the trees around the clearing cawed loudly, acknowledging the approach of another, one far grander and more deadly than they. From the black sky dropped a board-winged beast, one with razor sharp talons and wings twice as wide as Ilfavor's. The hide was obscured by the gloom but Elhyn knew it to be silvery in hue and sleek to touch. Ruffled ridges ran down the length of the neck and the Drake's chin bore long whiskers that could scent prey on the breeze from far away. This was Veyana, a Tyirss or 'Elysian' breed of Drake, the largest of their kind and so reserved for the ruling Dynast herself.

Veyana settled down with a heavy thud, her broad wings buffeting the nearby watchers and nearly knocking them from their vigils. So large was Veyana that her back could carry a Bright Lance, a rare weapon traded from the Craftworlders and as such requiring a second rider. Yet today that position was taken by a cold body, wrapped in a shroud. This was the body of Betthaa, whose death the Wind-dancers had gathered to mourn. Yet it was lithe figure dismounting from the Drake that drew all eyes. Stepping down from the Drake's back came a tall female with a noble bearing and a cool expression. Her hair was bound into a long braid that was laid over her shoulders and her dress, while made of natural materials, was finely wrought and smooth, reaching her bare feet and boasting a high collar. Her brow bore a circlet of amber and at her hip was a slim sword of ancient make that glowed with psionic potential. This was the Dynast of the Wind-Dancers, Elhyn's mother and her name was Celasia.

The Dynast alighted her drake as a quartet of warriors came forth, bringing a bier for the body. The Dynast however stepped past them and approached Elhyn, who lowered his eyes in respect. Celasia looked down at him and said, "So, my wayward son decided to make an appearance."

Elhyn felt a hot flush of shame and replied, "I would not dishonour the dead by being absent."

Celasia replied, "And yet you think nothing of missing our hunt, so you can chase fleeting glory."

Elhyn rallied as he protested, "I removed the threat of Drachindar from our lands."

Celasia cut him off, "And in doing so scattered her young far and wide. There was a reason I desired the whole kinband to challenge her as one, we could have run down her brood before they could escape. Instead we have a thousand problems to confront tomorrow."

Elhyn had no defence and said, "I have defied you, I am humbled."

Celasia stared for a moment then relented and said, "This is the springtime of your life, a season for foolish mistakes and daring deeds. It is the province of the young to make mistakes, but you must learn from this. Soon summer will be upon you and there will be no time for such nonsense. You will have responsibilities of your own, your father's burden as huntmaster cannot be averred forever. Not when others have acted even more foolishly."

It was then that Elhyn noticed what was missing. The four Eldar bearing the body off the Drake did not include the son of the fallen. A warrior named Velsal was completely absent, a serious breach of tradition. Celasia confirmed his suspicions as she informed him, "Velsal took up his bow and entered the Webway. He seeks the cult the Ynnari, following the call of Ynead.

Elhyn was stunned and blurted, "He chases the dream of the Whispering God?"

It was a shocking revelation, even here on distant Athelling, word had come of a cosmological shift. A new god was stirring, one utterly opposed to Chaos: a promise of freedom from the depredations of She Who Thirsts. It was a fundamental change in the destiny of all Eldar and none had escaped the repercussions. Exodite, Craftworlder, Harlequin and even the Dark Kin, all had seen their kin departing, chasing a call in their heart and a promise of a new destiny.

Celasia spat, "A fool's dream, the Craftworlders meddle with cosmic affairs best left undisturbed. Such hubris led to the Fall and this attempt to upset the harmonies of the galaxy will only lead to disaster."

Elhyn shook his head and said, "You did not forbid Velsal from departing?"

Celasia blinked in surprise and stated, "Even a Dynast has limits on her authority, it is not for me to deny any of the Kinband the calling of their hearts. If Velsal thinks his place is no longer here, I cannot deny him. Still, his loss leaves us poorer."

Elhyn breathes deeply and declared, "I cannot imagine leaving the Everforest, where does my heart lie if not here?"

Celasia nodded in agreement and said, "That is good to hear, our people need us. Now let us attend to our duties."

Elhyn saw the pallbearers were waiting for them and they hurriedly took up their places at the head of the procession. The rest of the Wind-dancers formed up ahead of them, two long lines of illumination, forming a snake of light winding around the barrow. With stately dignity the Dynast began her walk, passing between the two lines with the body following her. As they walked voices arose in songs of lament, hauntingly beautiful melodies that carried over the barrow and out into the Everforest beyond. Elhyn was not ashamed that he wept at the beautiful sorrow, no Eldar could have denied the pain contained within. Their race felt their emotions more keenly than a stupid Ork or Mon-keigh could ever comprehend.

As the funeral dirge wafted over the forest the party reached the end of the line and stepped to the very crest of the barrow. At the crown of the mound awaited a circle of standing stones, describing a ring around a low altar. They were deceptively primitive, rough hewn and weathered by the elements, but that could not begin to detract from the currents of power blowing through them. This was a nexus of the World Spirit, an interface of the material world with the eternal psychic pulse of the planet. No cold and sterile Infinity Circuit awaited the Exodites; their souls would live forever in the life-force of the Everforest.

Standing by the altar was Laegwen, in her feathered robe and bearing a staff crested by a heavy rock. The Treesinger stood in shadow, bearing no light as she stepped forward to bar their path and uttered, "Who approaches?!"

Celasia replied in the ritual fashion, "A warrior of the people."

Laegwen countered, "Was his life without blemish?"

Celasia affirmed, "Betthaa lived in harmony with the world, his spirit is pure and uncorrupted by She Who Thirsts. He claims his eternal rest."

"Then bring forth the fallen," Laegwen replied.

The body was set down and Elhyn stepped forward to play his role. He knelt over the corpse and reverently removed the spirit stone, cutting the bindings between the receptacle and the body. He left the body behind, no more than cold meat to be thrown into the forest and presented the stone to the Treesinger. Laegwen took it in her hands then turned and placed it upon the altar. The stone glowed with the rich essence of the soul it contained as Laegwen took up her staff and proclaimed, "Betthaa, join your ancestors in eternity and see again all those you have missed. You shall live on in the song, for as long as the Everforst endures so too shall you. We ask you to speak of the living and welcome us when our time comes."

With those words she swung her staff, smashing the heavy rock into the spirit stone. The priceless jewel cracked under the force of the blow, breaking its integrity and freeing the soul within. A warm rush of vital psychic power flowed out, seeking a harbour in the cold and unforgiving world. For an instant something predatory and hungry brushed over their hearts, the ravenous touch of She Who Thirsts seeking the soul of an Eldar, but before the Chaos God could feast the circle of standing stones flared with invisible power and snatched up the drifting soul. Betthaa was enjoined with the World Spirit, adding his voice to the song of Athelling. Elhyn felt its notes in his soul, the voices of all his ancestors joined as one with the life-force of the planet and in that multitude he thought he could hear his father singing.

The outpouring of psychic power lit up the forest, flowing over all present and easing their pain and sorrow. All felt the touch of their lost loved ones and for a moment their grief was assuaged. But then something most unexpected happened. Laegwen's eyes blazed as the power poured through her, her connection deeper and more potent than any other's. Her face creased with agony and she threw back her head to scream, "Darkness, death and doom! It comes, the ochre serpent seeks to sink poisoned fangs into the world and destruction rides in its wake!"

Elhyn was shocked by the cry and all started in fear. This was not part of the ritual and all fell back as the Treesinger's voice became a scream of terror. The cry was part warning, part pain and part sorrow, a feral scream of raw anguish. Elhyn froze in shock at the sound but his mother reacted instantly. The Dynast stepped forward and swung her arm, slapping Laegwen across the face. The Treesinger's cry was cut off and she staggered, pressing a hand to her cheek which was red raw. Her eyes blinked furiously as she sought to understand what had happened, then they cleared and she nodded in gratitude.

Elhyn gasped, "What was that?"

Laegwen answered breathlessly, "The World Spirit opened up to me and showed me a glimpse into the cycles of time. The Skein of the future and its infinite permutations were laid before me."

Celasia hurriedly snapped, "What did you see? Tell me quickly."

Laegwen drew in a breath and said, "Doom, I saw doom. A great orange serpent opened its jaws to consume Athelling and swallow it whole. The lands of the Wind-dancers suffered under a blight, a cursed darkness falling from on high. It consumed the trees and the animals, poisoned the ground and sowed the soil with salt. Nothing could grow for a thousand leagues in any direction and the World Spirit withered under its touch."

Elhyn started, "Who would do such a thing, who brings this doom?!"

Laegwen furrowed her brow and said, "I am no Farseer, the vision fades. I cannot hold it in my mind… no wait… Yes, I saw the Mon-Keigh. The Mon-keigh did this."

"Mon-keigh," Elhyn breathed in shock. He had seen the primitive apes before, invading the forests with their ignorance and brutality. The Eldar hunted down these invaders mercilessly and drove them out, but they always came back.

Celasia straightened up and said, "They seek the Vale of Midnight Tears, but it forbidden. Every prophecy foretells that should its borders be violated a catastrophe will befall Athelling. We must deny that future."

"How?" Elhyn questioned.

Celasia declared, "Summon the Drakes, gather your weapons and set a watch upon the forest. We must know the second the invaders come. I shall call a Kin-moot and all Kinbands along our borders shall be summoned. No matter our rivalries this is a threat to all Eldar: all must make ready for war."

Elhyn bowed deeply at the command but his mind dwelt on his new spear. It seemed Wyrmfang would taste blood sooner than he had expected. He could only hope it proved potent enough for what was to come.


	45. Chapter 45

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 45**

His opponent was good, a bold warrior with the scars to prove it. He came in fast, swinging a sickle in each hand and going for hearts. Reddam was forced to back-step, blocking with his spear's haft to prevent his chest being torn open. His foe saw the move coming and swung wide with the razor-sharp blades, lashing outwards to tear across the Sergeant's shoulder and flank, leaving bloody lines in his flesh. The wounds were painful but not fatal so Reddam surged forward, swinging downwards to try to catch his rival with the spearpoint. Now it was his foe's turn to fall back, retreating pace by pace as he held his weapons up before his face, his short robe baked in sweat.

All around them the crowd cheered at the display, Amber Vipers from various squads punching the air and letting out cries of encouragement or taunts. Primus Initiates, Secundus warriors and Snakelet-Scouts from Tertius, rank and age mattered not, anybody could come to witness the bout. They were all gathered in a training arena and formed a wide circle around a raised podium, upon which Reddam was duelling. His foe was Sergeant Treno, a fearsome warrior of Primus cohort. He was among the best of the Chapter, a respected first-generation Amber Viper who thought to prove his worth by challenging a veteran, but Reddam wasn't about to concede defeat, he was of the Old Seventeen and he had been fighting wars since before this pup was born.

Reddam carefully stepped right, wary of the edge of the podium lest he fall and disqualified himself. Treno rotated to follow him, then suddenly burst forward, swinging his sickles in his hands. Reddam dove sideways and felt a sharp cut across his side as he evaded. He rallied and came back with a thrust from his de-energised spear, slicing across Treno's shoulder in a spray of blood. Treno spun off his heel to avoid the worst and dashed nearer, going for Reddam's knee. Reddam jerked his leg out of the way and bashed downwards but his foe was within the arc of his spear and his blow merely knocked Treno away.

The crowd roared approvingly at the exchange and Reddam's squad was in there somewhere, but the Sergeant focused solely upon Treno, who taunted, "Old and slow, face it I am going to beat you."

Reddam circled his spear point as he snarled, "Only when you grow up enough to wean off your mother's milk."

Treno lunged forward, darting under the speartip to slash in. It was a bold move and brought him within the arc of the spear, but he had made the mistake of thinking that close range was his advantage. As Treno came in close Reddam slammed his spear's butt into a leg, knocking him aside then dropped his weapon with a clatter. Treno was reeling and had not expected the risky move and before he knew what was happening Reddam was behind him, kicking him in the back of the knee to force him down. A muscled arm snaked around his neck and caught him in the crook, then Reddam grasped his right wrist with his hand and pulled hard.

Treno lurched upwards as his neck was caught in a vice, slamming his throat closed and cutting off his air. He flailed and kicked but could not break the older Marine's hold, so resorted to lashing upwards with his sickles. Reddam snarled as the tips scored over his biceps and shoulders, leaving bloody trails in his flesh. The pain was sharp and raw but Reddam only redoubled his grip, pulling for all he was worth. He heard his hearts pounding in his ears and his vision narrowed to a pinprick but he still felt his pinned foe struggling to breathe. Treno was trying to inflate his multi-lung but the boy had left it too late, he was starved of air and going into oxygen deprivation. His flailing grew weaker and weaker and his blows began to miss as his face went purple. Even Space Marine brains could not function without oxygen and after nearly a minute of suffocation Treno slumped into unconsciousness, falling limp in Reddam's grasp.

Reddam held on until he was certain that Treno wasn't faking, then let go, dropping the other Sergeant to the hard floor. Only then did the cheering of the crowd penetrate his mind. Brothers were yelling their approval and calling his name, some louder than others it must be noted. Hands reluctantly pressed bolt clips and devotional tokens into waiting palms, the losers of their wagers less than pleased to have lost face. Reddam ignored them all as he collected his spear and stepped aside for Treno's squadmates, who came to collect their stirring sergeant and tell him the bad news.

The crowd cheers faded as the Sergeant shouldered his spear and then turned and dropped off the podium. As another two warriors mounted the stand the crowd began calling out for their new champions and making fresh wagers. Meanwhile Reddam approached his squad who were standing among the packed bodies. Joffel, Kazao, Glord, Tebes and Larus, all greeting him with eager smiles, an assumption in Kazao's case as his face was hidden by his helmet.

Glord was the first to speak, "That's the way to do it Sergeant, you showed him!"

Tebes concurred, "Primus Cohort has learned to respect Secundus this day."

Joffel smirked as he said, "I won three bolt-clips off Brother Juithor, he should have known better than to bet against you."

Reddam scowled, he did not approve of the betting, but then this whole display was yet another example of the Viper's straying from the Codex Astartes. Training duels were supposed to be solemn and dignified events but the young recruits had made it a spectacle. The only saving grace was it had proven an effective way to bind the Chapter together. A strict Coda of rules had been hashed out, chief among them that any Brother could challenge another regardless of rank but only once, no warrior could be expected to duel repeatedly. The Amber Vipers Chapter was evolving its own martial culture, one red in tooth and claw, yet with a certain honour to it.

Larus interjected, "I am expecting a bout with Brother Xamia, any tips?"

Reddam started then and said, "What happened to your face?"

Larus was indeed caked in filthy black marks, ground into his pores. He wiped a grimy hand over his face and said, "Oh this? This is Shrios' work. That poisonous mould he brought from the drift proved more dangerous than he thought. The stuff multiplies like crazy and ate through the laboratorium seals. We had to seal the area and burn it off the walls with flamers. It's everywhere down there."

Glord laughed, "That's where you've been all day, scrubbing mould off walls?"

Everybody chuckled at that, for the journey had indeed been dull. A ship in the warp was effectively cut off and the squad had nothing to do save train and inspect their gear. Their new Navigators had made swift progress but Athelling lay on the outskirts of the galaxy and the voyage was long. Especially with the waning of the Astronomican, the Emperor's guiding light was struggling to break through the Empyreal storms since the opening of the Cicatrix Maledictum and warp travel had slowed as a consequence. The Sergeant drew in a breath and said, "We need to train together, we can't let our standards slip through inaction or…"

Reddam was cut off as a strange sensation washed over him. It felt like he was falling down a well while being squeezed by invisible forces and simultaneously stretched on a rack. For long seconds it persisted then faded, leaving behind a sense of relief, a weight unnoticed until it lifted off the soul. Reddam slipped his spear to a resting position and announced, "Warp Translation: we're back in realspace."

Glord looked about in surprise and said, "That was smooth."

Joffel agreed, "House Chamandley's Navigators are skilled, better than the captives we've been getting by with."

Larus mused, "Do you think the rest of the fleet has arrived in the system already, or we are the first?"

Tebes replied frankly, "There's no way to tell. Ships can't stay in formation in the Warp; we arrive separately and regroup in realspace. There's no guarantee we'll even arrive within a month of each other… or a century."

Reddam concurred, "There's no point speculating about it until we have hard facts, we should return to our barracks and…"

Suddenly a tinny noise broke out over the arena's speakers and all heads turned to listen as a voice blared, "All squads report to assigned launch bays immediately, repeat, all squads to assigned launch bays."

Joffel frowned in confusion as he spluttered, "But we only just translated. We must be on the edge of the system, weeks away from the habitable zone. We can't possibly be close enough to deploy."

Reddam however was already turning away as he barked, "Stop wasting time, we have orders. Let's go!"

The various squads piled out of the arena and sprinted towards their disparate launch bays. Reddam set a punishing pace for they were far from their destination. The Wyvern was eight kilometres long and they were half-way across the ship from their destination. Like all Imperial ships the vessel contained transit capsules to speed crew and cargo on their way, but on this ship they only ran from bow to stern and none went where he wanted to be. So the squad ran, maintaining a pace that a mortal athlete would have called sprinting but sustaining it for long minutes, their genhanced physiology letting them continue for as long as needed. They passed mortal crew about their duties and mindless servitors plodding along but they did not slow. After fifteen minutes of flat out running Reddam reached the launch bay, not the primary one used for the Chapter's Thunderhawks but a smaller one, filled with personnel shuttles and heavy lifters being serviced by chattels and servitors.

Reddam entered only to pull up short in surprise, stunned to see three strange machines sitting under tarpaulins, along with Chapter Master Coluber. The squad hastily formed a line, then saluted with their hearts over their fists as Reddam announced, "Reporting as ordered."

Coluber faced them squarely and saluted back, his power armour shining brilliantly and Venom's hilt gleaming at his hip as he said, "Reddam, good. I am here to brief you on the upcoming mission… Wait, you look injured, have you been fighting?"

Reddam replied honestly, "I was with Sergeant Treno in the fighting arena, he pressed his challenge hard."

Coulber lifted an eyebrow and asked, "Did you win?"

Reddam grinned slightly as he replied, "You have to ask?"

Coluber let slip a smile as he said, "That will teach our younger Brothers not to challenge one of the Old Seventeen. I confess I never planned for our training regimes to become sporting events but it seems effective, these new practices are helping us establish our own identity."

Reddam concurred, "It seems to work, but may I ask why you summoned us?"

Coluber nodded as he said, "Yes, Ferrac and I will be briefing all squads about the upcoming mission. Our fleet is translating in-system and will regroup in orbit over the target planet. Our Rogue Trader ally has provided us with information on the environment. It is an arboreal world, every inch save for oceans or mountain is covered in vast forests. Long-range observation has identified the objective, but the terrain is unsuitable for landing. We must slash-burn a landing zone some fifty kilometres away and approach through the forest."

Reddam grimaced as he spat, "Fifty kilometres, presumably under attack by feral Xenos the entire way, that sounds slow going."

Coluber agreed, "Slow and bloody, projections expect a cost in lives this Chapter cannot bear at the current time. Saffor's report indicates the Howling Griffons attempted to hasten their route with a mechanised assault, burning a path through the forest. A flawed stratagem, so we shall not repeat their error, we shall fly there."

Glord sounded confused as he protested, "Excuse me Chapter Master, but did you not say the objective was unsuitable for landing?"

Coluber did not fault the lad for speaking up and explained, "Yes I did, but we shall not fly over the canopy… we shall fly under it."

Every started and Joffel exclaimed, "Under the canopy, is that even possible?!"

Coluber smirked at their reaction and said, "Not normally but this is no normal planet. Gravity is low and the trees unusually tall and widely dispersed. Saffor tells us there is a vertical kilometre between the canopy and the ground, more than enough room for our gunships. Our allies in House Chamandley have assigned us a regiment of Huscarls and Valkyries to transport them. Your role will be to form part of our escort, this means you will have to leave your bikes behind and adopt a more suitable means of war."

With those words the chattels pulled back the tarpaulins and revealed the machines beneath. They were twin-boomed aircraft with downswept wings and vectored thrusters. A two-man cockpit was set before the intake of a circular jet engine and it bore a chin-mounted heavy bolter. Under the wings hung a pair of multi-lasers and circular rocket pods. The three machines looked hunched and predatory, brawlers of the skies, built to wreak destruction: Vulture gunships.

Reddam heard his squad gasp at the revelation and Glord exclaimed, "You want us to leave our bikes and fight in these?"

Larus sounded equally baffled as he said, "We've had hypno-indoctrination on basic flight, but we're not rated to fly these in combat."

Coluber explained, "That's why I am telling you now, you have three weeks until we reach orbit to train. Not much time I know, but you are Astartes, I expect you to excel."

Reddam stepped forward and peered at a vulture as he said, "I flew Stormtalons in another life, this won't be too different. We will simply have to get the rest of you up to speed. Joffel, Kazao you take one, sort out who will be pilot and gunner between yourselves. Larus and Tebes, you take the second. Glord, you'll be my gunner."

Glord glanced at Larus and said, "But I have a partner."

Reddam scowled as he snapped, "You're not joined at the hip. Learn to fight with the whole squad. Now come here and watch how I do pre-flight checks. We have very little time to prepare and I want you all rated to fly before we reach Athelling."


	46. Chapter 46

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 46**

It began with a brilliant star in the sky, a tiny pinprick that came from nowhere. It hung in the heavens for an instant as a single mote, growing brighter and brighter until was painful to look upon, then it fell. Like a divine thunderbolt it descended, a searing trail of burning plasma that left streaks through the air as it plunged and when it touched the ground it erupted into a blazing inferno. Celestial fires spilled forth, engulfing an area a hundred metres wide. The Canopy burned, the underbrush charred to cinders and small animals were reduced to ashen skeletons. An ancient tree that had stood undisturbed since the Age of Apostasy was set aflame, toppling over with its trunk cracking to splinters as it fell with a thunderous crescendo of snapping branches.

The forest reeled as a hole was blown into its endless green reaches, trees shaking under the shockwave that blew forth, but worse was to come. Close on the heels of the first shot came another and another. Starship-grade plasma bolts, macrocannon rounds and turbolaser shots, blasting the forest apart with titanic force. The ground heaved under the impacts, soil fused to glass and trees were reduced to ash. Roots that had burrowed deep within the earth were blown free, sending splinters spinning high into the air. Fires raged freely, consuming all and running further out into the forest. Small animals and their predators ran for their lives but few escaped the carnage, the fireballs claiming everything in the area without exception. Shockwaves rattled the surrounding forest, shaking the trees to their roots.

The fires raged fiercely but only briefly, everything they could use for fuel was vaporised in moments. The barrage smote everything then snapped off, leaving ruination in its wake. The bombardment had been brief but intensely concentrated, leaving behind a square of smoking cinders two kilometres to a side. The fires ceased falling from heaven but the day was not done, for following in its wake came flurries of blocky shapes, Imperial shuttlecraft and orbital landers, dropping from orbit in tight formation. Their stubby wings and bulbous hulls paid scant heed to aerodynamics, preferring instead to power through the air on roaring rocket contrails. Aquila landers, Arvus lighters, servitor- driven cargo haulers, bulk lifters and a single massive Angantyr dropship, all setting down within the blasted square of scorched earth.

The various craft set down and from them poured warriors in vibrant amber armour, powered and scout variants. They hurriedly dashed across the burnt landscape, bolters held ready as they swept the area for danger. In their wake came lesser mortal men in ornate uniforms and tall furred hats, the Huscarls of House Chamandley, chasing the Astartes as fast as they were able. In moments they had formed a perimeter around the burnt square and then the workers emerged. From the landers chattels and servitors dragged heavy machinery: earth-moving machines, Ferrocrete mixers and prefab structures. It was from the Angantyr that the largest machines emerged, its pointed bow opening up to allow a double ramp to extend outwards and drop. Barely had it touched down when the first machines rolled out, setting churning blades and rollers to the scorched earth. They set off in moments, digging roots and stones out of the ground and then flattening it into a perfectly level surface.

The noise of busy industry was deafening and into that din walked Kerubim, marching down the ramp with Bane in tow. The apprentice was clad in his red armour and bore a heavy wrench in one hand, his bare face surveying the activity with satisfaction. His Vorax robot followed him pace for pace, guns held ready at a moment's notice. Kerubim stopped at the foot of the ramp and watched the earth-moving machines clearing the ground as he took in this world. The sky was clear and startlingly blue and the air was filled with loamy scents and the residue of sap from broken boughs, mixed with the acrid stank of burnt underbrush. The gravity was low, making his steps bounce and the moisture content was high, easily compensated for by his physiology, but a mortal would find it uncomfortable. A few percentiles higher and a human would drown trying to breathe this soup of an atmosphere.

A moment later a voice called out, "Don't just stand there, make way!"

Kerubim started and hastily jumped aside as Nathanal waved past a Ferrocrete pouring machine, guided by a half-dead servitor. His teacher came to stand next to Kerubim and muttered, "This is taking too long."

Kerubim glanced about and remarked, "With the sacred machines gifted to us by House Chamandley we make good progress. We should have a forward base operational in six hours."

Nathanal snorted, "Which is five hours too long. A proper Chapter could have a forward base dropped straight from orbit, mobile Fortresses, chapel-barracks, armouries, sacred reliquaries and plasma generators. Once I prided myself on being able to get a base up and running within an hour of setting foot upon a world."

Kerubim replied, "It is still faster than anything we have managed before, our logistics expand to match our needs. Once the base is up and running we can unpack the Valkyries, Vultures and Thunderhawks and set off for the twin objectives."

Nathanal shook his head and said, "So young, so inexperienced. You have no idea what the feral Xenos will do, six hours is a bloody long time to be sitting out in the open."

Kerubim sighed, "They are filthy aliens, no match for the righteous human spirit. They cannot withstand our superior courage and fortitude."

Nathanal sighed, "Spend a decade fighting at the sharp end of battle and then tell me that. Aliens rarely die as easily as the tale-tellers proclaim."

Kerubim was exasperated at being talked down to and snapped, "You are a mortal chattel, when have you seen battle?"

Nathanal's eyes hardened as he replied, "I've seen battle, I've seen Orks and Tyranids climbing the walls of Imperial fortresses, overrunning every defence. I've seen Space Marines carried in pieces from the battlefield, broken and spent. I've seen worlds scoured bare by Cyclonic torpedoes to stop their scourge."

Kerubim frowned as he asked, "When was that?"

Nathanal blinked and then said, "It was before the Time of Exodus. Now stop lollygagging and go oversee the placement of the buildings while I supervise the Ferrocrete pouring."

Kerubim sighed as they split up. Already the large machines were grinding forward, pouring quick-drying Ferrocrete onto the flattened dirt. The material hardened in under a minute, allowing surveyor-chattels to start etching out placements for the prehab buildings that would be erected within the hour. Kerubim didn't really need to do anything, the chattels were experienced and had their own work-gang leaders. Power generators, barracks, machine shops, Vox and Auspex towers, sentry turrets and landing pads, all were meticulously laid out in paint, ready for the first buildings to go up. Kerubim had seen Imperial slash and burn operations before and they were a picture of efficiency. The raw material of the forest was being laid bare by superior Imperial industry, the randomness of the green forest and wild animals replaced with prescribed lines and order. It was the image of mankind's dominance over the universe, conquering the wild elements and forcing nature into submission through force of will. Kerubim even dared to imagine the whole planet being subdued, conquered and colonised, Athelling could become a productive part of the Imperium, given time.

His musings were interrupted as Bane's insectoid head rose up and quivered, then suddenly the Vorax bounded forward, piston legs propelling it away. Kerubim started in shock and set off after it, shouting, "Bane! Stop that, come back!"

The Vorax seemed not to hear him, or was bound to protocols that overrode his commands, as it dashed to the perimeter of the clearing, leaving the poured Ferrocrete behind as it churned mud in its clawed feet. Its rotor cannons spun up, pointing at the trees nearest to a knot of Huscarls. The burnt edges of the perimeter ran right up to the treeline, a demarcation between the cleared ground and the gloomy darkness under the kilometre high trees. Kerubim grimaced as he saw the Vorax was aiming at nothing but a fallen bough and he shouted, "Bane! Relent!"

The Vorax finally froze, its weapons fixed in position, ready to fire but unable to do so without orders. Kerubim skidded to a halt next to his robot and slapped the side growling, "Don't run off when I call you, you're embarrassing me in front of the mortals." Bane didn't respond, merely pointing its weapons at the fallen log and Kerubim glanced at the Huscarls, trying to communicate his exasperation. It was only then that he noticed the humans weren't looking at him; instead they were staring at the same bough. Their faces were slack and their jaws hung limply, lasguns almost falling from their limp hands. They looked to be in a trance, mesmerised by something Kerubim couldn't see.

The Marine turned in curiosity and looked at the log, only to be amazed by the sight of multiple eyes staring back at him. Tucked into a space under the log was some form of beast, with a shimmering carapace and rows of eyes set along a spherical head. Shining fangs hung in a black maw and eight multi-jointed legs were folded up underneath it. How it had survived the bombardment was a mystery but Kerubim couldn't wonder about that right now, in fact he couldn't move or speak. Those black eyes filled his vision, beguiling him with a hypnotic allure that fixed him into immobility. His spirit railed at the sight and his mind tried to fight back, but he was in awe, fixated by the hypnotic power of the beast. Bane whined and tried to fire its rotor cannons but Kerubim couldn't give the order to fire, his jaw was clamped shut. Slowly the beast emerged, revealed to be some form of crystalline spider. It inched nearer, exposing burn welts over its hide where the firestorm had injured it. Kerubim felt like a mouse seeing a feline mid-pounce, caught up in the moment of the kill and knowing death was moments away. The spider opened its maw and tensed, ready to spring on its prey to feast.

At that moment there was a loud bang and something flew past Kerubim, striking the spider dead on and sending it flying backwards in a tangle of legs. Kerubim started as the hypnotic vision was broken and he turned in awe as a pair of warriors strode past him: Battle-Captain Ferrac and Sergeant Excelsium. The spider rose up on its many legs and its eyes glimmered with power but Ferrac seemed immune to its touch, merely levelling his sledgehammer-bolter and firing again. The beast folded up as the kenetic round slammed into it, sending it flying backwards then Excelsium ran forward and speared it through the abdomen with his trident. The Spider let out a thin wail as its lifeblood poured out but Excelsium's weapon tore its innards to shreds and ended its life with a sharp thrust.

The Huscarls groaned as the spell was broken and staggered about as if drunk but Kerubim shook his head to clear the miasma and spluttered, "What was that?!"

Ferrac spat, "An alien."

"An Eldar?" Kerubim gasped in shock as his mind cleared.

"Are you deficient?!" Excelsium called mockingly as he wrenched his Trident out of the folding body, "Everyone knows Eldar have two legs, this thing had eight. Can't you count?"

Kerubim scowled at being mocked so and said, "I was distracted."

Ferrac faced him squarely and his stern face glowered as he admonished, "I noticed that. Your mental defence was weak and flawed, an Astartes should be proof against such bestial psychic trickery. You let down your guard like a foolish mortal. Do not make the mistake of thinking this environment is any less dangerous than a blood-soaked battlefield. This forest is as perilous an incoming Earthshaker barrage. You had better shape up if you want to survive this world."

Kerubim felt a hot flush of embarrassment and lowered his head saying, "I apologise, I will try to do better."

Ferrac sneered, "Losers always bleat about trying better, while winners step upon them to ascend to victory. When the aliens come which will you be, boy?"

Kerubim lifted his head and answered loudly, "Captain, I shall be among the victorious. The aliens will not catch me unprepared again. Hate the alien, fear the alien, kill the alien."

Ferrac snorted in amusement, "Good, you've learnt something this day."

Behind him Excelsium stooped to rip the spider's head off and held its dripping skull high as he said, "This will make a fine trophy, I think I'll keep it as a memento of this world."

One the Huscarls doubled up and began to vomit at the gory sight and Ferrac growled, "Weaklings, get out of my sight!"

The mortals scurried away and Ferrac hissed, "Painted guards, not one of them worth his salt. House Chamandley thinks soldiers are but gaudy toys, they sent us hollow men with no spine. When this turns bad it will be the Amber Vipers who have to do the real fighting."

Kerubim swallowed as he inquired, "You think we will face a battle?"

"You don't?" Ferrac muttered, "What alerted you to this threat anyway?"

Kerubim slapped Bane's side and said, "My Vorax, it detected the threat."

"Humph," Ferrac snorted, "That hunter-killer has better instincts than you. You would be well advised to heed it in the future."

Kerubim lowered his head in humility and said, "Yes Battle-Captain I shall, I will be ready for when the Xenos come."

Ferrac's gaze turned to take in the darkness under the forest beyond the perimeter and he growled, "Better make it fast, I can feel alien eyes crawling over me like target designators. Mark my words, the Eldar already know we are here."


	47. Chapter 47

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 47**

Wyrmfang pulsed in his grip, the spear thrumming with potential energy. Elhyn could feel the life force bound within the crystal structure resonating to the rhythm of the Everforest. The spear was a part of the song, as was he, and he could feel the connections between them. The weapon was not wielded by him, nor he by it, they worked in concert, two dance partners both moving to the same music.

Before him lay his target, a fallen log of deadwood. It had taken time to find, for the Wind-dancers did not chop and hew. He had searched for a naturally fallen branch and the Everforest had provided; its bounty generous to those who treated it with respect. Elhyn drew in a breath and felt his heart beating and the softness of the mossy underbrush between his toes, then he struck. Wyrmfang flew in a dazzling arc of green light, bisecting the molecules of the air with its passing. Elhyn felt the harmony of weapon and wielder reach a peak then with barely a jolt the lethal edge carved through the log, splitting a three-foot piece of wood with no more effort than shredding parchment. The log fell into two pieces, split by a perfectly straight partition and Elhyn leaned back to admire his handiwork.

There arose a short peal of merry laughter as M'sgith called, "Hail Elhyn, defeater of logs!"

E'raye joined in, "Yes, we no longer need to fear dead wood!"

The pair were sitting upon a large boulder which was perched over a vast chasm. As far as the eye could see the vertical drop stretched, a rocky canyon filled with perilous slopes and vertical cliff faces. Far below the Glynsmere river churned, perpetually carving away the bedrock of the ground. Thunderous roars echoed from the depths and the scent of foam was intense. Somewhere down there the Drakes swooped and dove, snatching fish from the turbulent river and carrying them up to higher perches to swallow them whole. The Everforest did not come near to the canyon, the towering trees requiring plenty of space for their roots. Thus there was a narrow band of clear rock between the shadowy underbrush and the canyon's edge, enough room to spot a dangerous predator should one approach.

Elhyn stepped up to the broken log and examined the cut. The broken wood was planar smooth, sheared clean through and almost as straight as a beam of light. Yet in the shorn surface glittered tiny flecks of green crystal, shimmering like frost on a winter morn. Elhyn peered closer and saw they were fragments of his blade's edge, broken off in the strike and left behind like a broken-off hook in a fish's mouth. He held Wyrmfang up and saw tiny breaks in the edge, where shards had split off, but even as he watched they disappeared. The crystal was renewing itself, growing back the lost shards and in moments it was as perfect as the moment he had first grasped it.

His attention was drawn away as Panthiro called, "Is it everything the legends say?"

The tall warrior was watching the forest edge, his bow held ready in case of surprises. Elhyn was thankful he was standing guard and replied, "It is wondrous, with such a spear I could take down a Leviatatius."

Panthiro nodded solemnly as he said, "Let us pray to the ancestors it is enough for what's coming."

M'sgith snorted loudly, "Do you really believe in prophecies of doom and darkness?"

Elhyn lowered his eyes as he replied, "I saw my sister's eyes and the truth therein. Darkness comes to Athelling."

E'raye shook her head and declared, "The skein and tinkering with fate are for Craftworlders. The song of the Everforest has always led us true, and it will again."

Elhyn shook his head and said, "You did not see the vision unfold, I did. Something comes, something more dangerous than anything we have faced before. We must prepare."

M'sgith sounded unconcerned as she retorted, "Your humours are unbalanced by worry, come let us fly together. We shall enjoy the day and the wind in our hair."

It was tempting but Panthiro spat, "We are charged with watching these lands, we cannot stray from our vigil."

E'raye flicked a bit of grit at him and laughed, "Ever so dour, what harm is there in a flight through the canyon?"

Elhyn was sorely tempted, to fly free and unencumbered would be marvellous. His heart yearned for the rush of the wind and the sensation of freedom but he could not forget the sight of his sister's distress. The weight of responsibility hung upon him and no longer could he ignore it. He drew in a breath to explain this, yet he never got a chance to speak. Suddenly there was a flash in the sky and terrible roar, accompanied by the ground shaking under his feet. The Everforest reeled and the wild animals roared in alarm as more flashes descended from the heavens, hammering the world. Every Eldar present doubled over in pain as the song of Athelling turned into a shriek, a wild cry of agony that was torn unwilling from the World Spirit. The harmony of the Everforest turned into jagged discord, a clashing din that scraped over their nerves like red hot knives. The natural balance of the world had been upended, a priceless artwork shattered at the hands of an unthinking brute. It struck at the souls of the Eldar, a blow unto the essence of the World Spirit.

The discord was painful but thankfully brief and the Eldar staggered to their feet as E'raye wailed, "So much pain, so much destruction. Who did this?!"

Elhyn has already guessed and spat, "The mon-keigh, they have arrived. Come, the epicentre is not far, we must fly!"

From the depths of the canyon came the four Drakes, rising fast with furious beats of their wings. The Eldar dashed to meet them mid-flight, leaping from the rocks to land on their broad backs, so lightly that the Drakes barely missed a beat. Elhyn tucked Wyrmfang into a sheath across his back and held onto his Drake as Ilfavor cried, "Danger, danger!"

Elhyn sent soothing impulses through their communion as he urged, "Be brave my friend, I need you to fly as you have never flown before!"

The Drakes rose above the lip of the canyon and banked towards the rising sun, heading towards the source of the calamity. In moments they passed under the shadows of the Everforest, flying between the widely spaced trees with arcing banks and sweeping rolls. The passing air streamed through Elyhn's hair but today he found no joy in it, the looming sense of wrongness drawing him ever on. The four Drakes wended their way through the forest, a line of brilliant hues in that eternal gloom. Their passage was swift and sure and all the while Elhyn scoured the reaches ahead, seeking the first sign of disruption.

Suddenly he saw it, a smoking charred mass of broken bracken and he urged Ilfavor to climb into the canopy, alighting upon a thick branch within viewing distance of the mess. The others landed moments later and together they dismounted, leaving their Drakes to perch with their wings folded and heads tucked low. Elhyn led the party on, leaping from branch to branch until he reached the furthest part of the tree. Here the leaves were thin and the branches flimsy so he flattened himself low and inched forward, presenting as small an aspect as he could as he tried to see what was happening.

What he beheld was shocking, a massive square of the Everforest had been razed to the ground, scorched bare by celestial fires. The ground had been charred to ashes and the great trees toppled, the tiny lives of insects and animals snuffed out without care or remorse by uncaring brutality. The sheer ignorance and disrespect of such an act galled him, the callous disregard for life and beauty anathema to his sensibilities. The mindless destruction had changed the song of Athelling, like missing notes in a symphony the absences were jarring the harmony. And in the midst of the destruction were the authors of this tragedy.

Mon-Keigh strutted across the burnt remnants of their handiwork, heads held high with self-righteous arrogance. They were directing ugly clanking things across the ground, completing the desecration of the Everforest with meticulous ardour. The ground was being churned up by threshing blades then coated in hardening rock, while metallic objects were dragged out of the maws of looming craft and piled up ready to be pieced together. The noise of it was horrid, an obnoxious clamour of bangs and grinding wails, unnatural and discordant. The song of humankind.

Panthiro hissed, "Dirty Mon-keigh, they sully the stars with their ignorance and blind hate."

E'raye's face wrinkled in disgust as she whined, "They smell awful."

Elhyn agreed with her, even over the harsh stank of machine oil, burnt wood and industrial fumes the raw stench of the invaders soaked through, sweaty, dirty and crude. It was bizarre that they so resembled the noble Eldar in appearance and yet were so mockingly inferior in every other respect. At least Orks were wholly alien, as misshapen as they were savage, the Mon-Keigh had no such excuse.

M'sgith peered at the tiny figures below and mused, "They act as kings of the world, as if none dare challenge them. But even if they haven't seen us, they surely must know they are being watched."

Panthiro shook his head and said, "Mon-Keigh are half-blind and almost deaf. They cannot hear the song of Athelling. We could practically walk up behind them and slit their throats before they noticed we are here."

E'raye urged, "Then let us sally forth and drive them from this world, send them scurrying back to the stars as a warning to the rest of their filthy kind."

E'lhyn shook his head in denial and said, "They are many and we are but four, it will take all the Wind-dancers to drive them away. We must summon the kinband."

The others nodded but Panthiro leaned in and said, "What's this?"

Elhyn looked almost straight down and saw a kilometre below a knot of Mon-keigh being attacked by a crystal spider. The stupid humans had been snared by its hypnotic power and were about to be eaten. Yet before it could sink its fangs in it was intercepted by other beings, of an order wholly different to Eldar and Mon-Keigh. A trio of strutting giants wearing hardened shells of smooth material, intercepted the spider, driving it back and piercing its heart.

E'raye peered closer and said, "What is that? It looks like a Mon-keigh but it is too big and too broad. I have never seen the like."

M'sgith mused, "Some form of leadership beast? Like Orks, where the biggest commands."

Elhyn peered at the figures below, trying to discern what he was seeing. They oozed threat, everything about them screaming hostile intent and deadly power. They looked built for war and something about their silhouette reminded him of a half-forgotten memory. He cast his mind back to his infancy, when he had been less than forty cycles old and sat at his father's knee to hear the old tales. Slowly Elhyn thought aloud, "When I was a child my father told me tales of his youth. One tale always made me scared, of a battle in the Everforest against a most terrible invader. A force unlike any other, who drove through our lands trying to penetrate the Vale of Midnight Tears. They drove the Wind-dancers back with relentless force and nearly reached their goal. It took a union of many kinbands to stop them."

Panthiro gulped, "You think these are them?"

Elhyn replied, "I hope not, but I cannot shake the shadow in my heart."

E'raye looked thoughtful as she mused, "The Craftworlders speak of the Mon-keigh having a warrior-caste, a band of savages built for nothing save war and destruction. Could these be them?"

Suddenly M'sgith started, "Look, look there. They bear the mark of the serpent!"

Elhyn peered at the remote figures and even from a kilometre above his sharp eyes picked out the icon each of them bore. A black serpent wrapped around a goblet, then it struck him that their shells were a deep orange hue, exactly as was prophesied. "Serpents of orange," he breathed, "This is what we were warned against, they are here."

Panthiro swallowed nervously then asked, "What do we do?"

Elhyn made a decision and said, "We cannot wait for my mother's Kinmoot, we must stop them before they reach their goal. We shall call forth the Wind-dancers at once and confront this danger. We must strike the head off this serpent before it can sink its fangs into the world."


	48. Chapter 48

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 48**

The vulture sat before him, its engines cold and its weapons locked down. The large fan behind the extended cockpit was idle and the twin boomed glistened with traces of fuel and sacred unguents. The litanies of awakening were complete and the Machine Spirit was prepared for war. It looked like a hunched predator, waiting to spring into life and strike down its prey, all it lacked was a pilot.

Sergeant Reddam stood before it, his spear shucked over his shoulder as he examined his attack craft. All around him the forward base bustled with activity, with chattels running everywhere. Fuel bowers chugged and servitor loaders groaned as they tended to waiting craft. The noise of an army readying to engage was deafening, making the ears hurt with the intensity, but Reddam was used to that. He was not troubled by the hammering of machinery nor the raw stink of fumes and oils, compared to the thunder of battle and the stench of spilt blood it was nothing but a nuisance.

The facility had been completed in just under six hours, still a long time by Reddam's reckoning and then unloading their transports and getting them fuelled and armed had taken four more. Ten hours on the planet and they weren't engaged in battle, by Space Marine standards that was a snail's pace. Yet their labours had paid off, across the field a hundred Valkyrie transports sat idling, their mortal pilots running preflight checks. Each one was armed with a forward-firing multi-laser and had a heavy bolter hanging from open side doors. These craft had been a gift from House Chamandley, as had the thousand Huscarls marching into the troop bays, their gaudy uniforms already caked with mud and their fur hats causing the men to sweat profusely. Those outfits might look intimidating in ballrooms and palaces but in the field they were wholly impractical. One Valkyrie had been set aside for Rogue Trader Saffor Teliday, who wore carapace armour under a jaunty cape and knee-high leather boots, his typical flamboyant attire making him stick out like an Ork at a court dance.

The Amber Vipers for their part were boarding their own collection of transports, salvaged and purloined from various wars. The towering transhumans boarded in perfect lockstep, each one alert and ready to fight at a moment's notice. Among the multitude sat the Thunderhawks Viper's Bite and Poisoned Fang, the bulky gunships looming over the crowd. Their quadruple twin-linked heavy bolters and racks of missiles promising certain death to anything they encountered. Reddam should have been reassured by so potent a display of might, the sheer number of craft a sledgehammer of Imperial power, but he knew that such numbers could also be a disadvantage. The human pilots would be forced to fly in rigid formations lest they crash into each other and in the event of an attack there was a real possibility that panicking mortal gunners would gun down their comrades with wild shooting.

He sighed aloud, "Oh for a dozen Thunderhawks, loaded with Astartes and flight of Stormtalons."

Beside him Glord snorted, "Why not wish for a Battlebarge while you're at it?"

Reddam scowled as he snapped, "Don't make light of the risks, we are taking these paper soldiers to war, they are as likely to shoot each other as a Xeno."

From his other side Joffel pointed out, "We've been on this world for hours and haven't seen a hint of Eldar activity. Maybe that Rogue Trader exaggerated the threat. They may be few and scattered across the planet. We could be in and out before they even notice we're here."

Tebes shook his head and said, "Doubtful, we have idled for ten hours, that means they have had plenty of time to prepare. I expect trouble ahead."

Joffel grinned as he said, "You always do."

"He's right," Reddam exclaimed, "Things are going too well, that's usually a sign you're walking into a trap."

Kazao interrupted the argument as he said, "Looks like we're ready, hadn't we better board our vultures?"

Reddam nodded and led them to where their three vultures were sitting on the hard pad. Gangs of chattels stepped back from the machines as the Astartes inspected their condition, when it came to aircraft readiness there was no such thing as too much caution. Joffel and Kazao moved to circle one machine, inspecting its condition with practised moves, that they had rehearsed frequently over the last few weeks. Tebes and Larus went to another, starting their preflight checks as Larus muttered, "Try not to get us shot for once."

Reddam however went to the lead vulture and began checking everything was in place. The fuel tank was fully loaded and the pressure levels in the hydraulic system were optimal. The landing gear was in perfect order and the vox antenna was intact. The vector thrusters were clear and the air intake blades in alignment. The heavy bolter was ready as were the multi-lasers and the circular rocket pods. Finally he glanced up and saw the identifier number sprayed on the tail booms but he placed a hand against its fuselage where fresh white letters had been painted upon the hull. The cold numerical designation had been deemed too sterile for a hunter such as this, so they had christened the gunship's spirit with a new name: 'White Condor.'

Satisfied all was in order Reddam strode up to the cockpit and gently laid his spear alongside the pilot's seat before climbing inside. Glord jumped into the gunner's seat and glanced at the shining weapon taking up the length of the cockpit as he remarked, "You're bringing that along?"

Reddam strapped himself in and placed a vox-bead in his ear as he retorted, "I'm not leaving it here."

Glord pulled a targeting lens over his eye and muttered, "Let's hope you don't have to use it, if they get close enough for that we'll be in the grox-dung up to our necks."

Reddam didn't respond as he sealed the cockpit then moved his hands over the controls, awakening the Machine Spirit. The cockpit was somewhat cramped for his eight-foot frame and the straps barely fit over his shoulders but at least he wasn't in power armour, it would have been impossible to fit was he so. He looked out of the cockpit and saw a chattel waving an all-clear signal to him, indicating the pad was clear of personnel and began his take-off ritual. In moments he had activated the various systems and he held his thumb over the ignition rune as he intoned, "Oh blessed Machine I summon you to war. May your wings carry us to battle and your fury strike down the enemy. May your armour be proof against the blandishments of the foe and should we fall may it be in glorious victory." With the litany completed he pressed the rune and was rewarded with a short bang from behind his head, followed by a high pitched whine that grew into a throaty roar as the jet engine spun up. The whole vulture rattled with building power and Reddam called, "Vox check."

From the right Kazao called, "Ready."

From the left Larus called, "Standing by."

Reddam widened the vox and called, "Alpha flight is ready for take-off."

The vox crackled and then Chapter Master Coluber called from Viper's Bite, "All units prepare to take off in sequence. You know our objective, you know what's at stake, the future of the Amber Vipers depends upon this moment. Tales will be told of this day and the triumph of our Chapter, for we shall take one more step on the path to glory. Now, its fifty kilometres to the target and we're burning daylight: let's move."

Reddam grinned slightly at that, Coluber could still turn a phrase when he needed to. He placed his hands on the controls and pushed the throttle open. The jet engine built in power and blasts of vector thrust shot out of the nozzles at the wingtips, then White Condor lifted off the ground. Reddam fluttered the controls, to keep the take-off smooth and the base fell away from his sight, as the sky grew. He was pleased with the handling, as always Imperial technology proved remarkably adaptable and robust. He had seen a hundred worlds and their unique variants of air technology, almost always specialised to local conditions. Ornithopters from an ocean world wouldn't last more than a few hours over desert terrain and air-skiffs from verdant agri-worlds would be clogged by smog on industrial planets. Yet the STC designed Vulture pattern was equally capable in any environment, this craft could fly as easily on Athelling as it could on Tallarn or Inwit or Terra itself.

Reddam lifted high and was followed by his flight of Vultures, along with nine more. Four squads designated to fly escort over the expedition, all ready and eager for combat. They rose several hundred metres before the Valkyries began to take off, lines of them rising in sequences behind them. The noise in the cockpit was deafening but Reddam's genhanced hearing cut through it with ease and he heard the various pilots calling out to each other, coordinating their lift-off. Then the Thunderhawks rose on vectored thrust, climbing over everybody.

Reddam called, "Alpha flight will take point, Beta take the low left flank and Gamma the low right, Delta take rear position. Keep your eyes open everybody, here we go." Reddam adjusted the controls and his vulture began to glide forward, powering away as he diverted thrust to the rear engines. The base disappeared as the towering forest grew in his sight, the immense trees rising well above them. It seemed bizarre that mere vegetation could rise so high but it meant there was plenty of room to manoeuvre and in mere moments they slipped into the eternal twilight under the canopy. He blinked furiously as his eyes adapted then he saw the endless forest surround him on all sides. It was the strangest thing he had ever experienced, and he had fought across Daemon Worlds. The canopy above shimmered constantly, moved by winds he could not see and the great columns of the trees loomed in his path. It seemed ridiculous to be flying through this immense forest, yet here they were, flying between the canopy and the ground five hundred metres below. The immense trees were widely placed, allowing him to weave between them with ease but for merely human pilots it was a troubling prospect.

Glord leaned forward to thump his auspex and muttered, "Fang-rot, it's far too cluttered under here. Auspex can't make head nor tails of the returns, its identifying everything as a target, we have no long-range readings at all."

Reddam had expected this and voxed, "Pick up your visual scanning, mark one eyeball is all we have."

The flocks of transports and gunships began to fly through the forest, weaving between the towering columns of the trees. Reddam steered his Vulture through the turns, enjoying the sensation of speed and power at his command. In a former life he had flown Stormtalon attack craft for time, and these were comparable. Slower, heavier and less advanced in many respects but their eager spirit more than made up for it. White Condor was fast and well-armed, with manoeuvrable handling and sharp acceleration, it responded to his slightest touch on the controls, weaving about the trees with ease. As it turned out it was too easily.

The vox crackled and Coluber ordered, "Vultures, you are pulling too far ahead reduce speed."

"Order acknowledged," Reddam confirmed as he reduced thrust and turned slightly to glance behind. What he saw was less than encouraging, the Valkyries were struggling to hold formation, their rigid lines having to break up to avoid the trees. The mortal pilots kept trying to reform but every time they did so the next tree would loom up in their path. If they tried to move faster they would end up scattered in random directions, left to fend for themselves. They had to break up avoid collisions then reform afterwards. All this meant they were making slow progress, far slower than anticipated.

Glord hissed, "Throne's sake they're making a mess of this."

Reddam agreed, "Clumsy mortals, we will have to slow down to let them adapt."

Glord muttered, "If we could fly over the canopy we could be there in ten minutes."

"Well we can't," Reddam admitted, "We'll just have to take it slow. Keep alert, we're not safe here."

Slowly the human pilots managed to find some form of order, forming longer lines that snaked between the trees like trails of ants. It was unwieldy and inefficient, but it allowed them to make some progress. With order restored the flights resumed their progress, slower than before but at least they were moving. After ten minutes they had covered about a quarter of the distance and Reddam began to think they might make it to their goal unmolested. He was to prove tragically wrong.

One moment he was flying ahead of the transports and the next the canopy exploded with a riot of colours. Red and greys and bronze wings bursting from the green roof, carrying bone-headed beasts in diving attacks. On their backs were lithe figures covered in woad and bearing primitive weapons. They were humanoid in form but far too limber and graceful in their movements. No human could have clung onto the diving beasts without harnesses, let alone wielded weapons, but these beings did so without a qualm. They were inhuman in their speed and agility, the grace that could only belong to the Eldar and they stooped upon the vulnerable gunships in a head-on attack.

Reddam saw them coming and gripped the controls tighter as he yelled, "Eldar ambush! Stand-by to engage, here they come!"


	49. Chapter 49

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 49**

Among the trees The Wind-dancers waited, silent and alert for the prey's approach. They were spread out across a wide swathe of the Everforest, a net cast over the lands between the Mon-Keigh landing site and the Vale of Midnight Tears. Young and old, male and female, hunters and gathers and weavers and crafters, every soul that could ride a Drake was present. So they waited, eager to drive these interlopers from their world and punish them for daring to desecrate their sacred forest.

Among their number Elhyn clung to Ilfavor's back and scoured his field of vision for the first sign of the invaders. In one hand was Wyrmfang, the potent weapon thrumming with potential energy and the other gripped the ridges of his drake with steady confidence. The Drake was impatient, fidgeting and occasionally snapping at stray branches that blew into his face. Elhyn reached through their communion and projected ease and solemnity to his mount but the Drake bristled and cawed, "Attack. Attack now."

"Patience," Elhyn breathes, "They will come to us, this is certain."

"Don't like waiting," Ilfavor hissed.

"Neither do I," Elhyn concurred with a faint grin.

He lifted his eyes and saw the Wind-dancers waiting among the green leaves, cunningly hidden so none without the sharp eyes of his race would see them. Hundreds of Drakes lurked impatiently, their many riders armed with bows and spears and slings. Such weapons may appear feeble but they were deceptively strong, especially when combined with the lethal accuracy of the Eldar. With such weapons they had driven off filthy Mon-keigh, roving Orks, brutish Tallestrians and ravenous K'nib. Chief among the gathered forces was his mother, the Dynast just visible with her silver Drake which bore a rare Bright Lance, bought at great cost from the Craftworlders. Elhyn was surprised she had agreed to stage this ambush but she had not hesitated to give the order, the Mon-Keigh had arrived earlier than anticipated and the Kinmoot was two days away. The Wind-dancers had to oppose this invasion of their lands, lest the forbidden borders of the Vale of Midnight Tears be violated.

Further along the branches waited his companions. Panthiro with his great bow held ready, to use it in flight was dangerous but he would fly with confidence despite having no handholds. M'sgith held her whip coiled at her side and she would surely use it well. E'raye had gathered her caches of nuts, each one ready to shatter upon command. Together the Wind-dancers presented a formidable array of strength, their wings would fill the sky with sleek death and their cries would ring unto the moons. All that remained to be seen is if they alone could defeat the invaders.

Elhyn's thoughts were interrupted by a low roar, a rasping mechanical howl unlike any sound heard on Athelling. He returned his gaze downwards and saw a flight of lumpy metallic craft cutting through the air. They were uniformly grey and blunt-nosed things, with unlovely angles and they rode upon blasting swathes of downward thrust. They moved without regard for wind or air currents, utterly ignoring the symmetry of the Everforest. Yet they carried potent weapons, the short stubby barrels of projectile guns and the las-spears that other races so favoured. First came a trio of narrow hulled craft, followed by waves of bulkier vessels, far more than Elhyn had anticipated and he swallowed as he realised the scale of the threat.

Ilfavor shifted beneath him, muscles bunching up in readiness to pounce but Elhyn steadied him for a moment longer. He looked to his Dynast, awaiting her word to attack. All the Wind-dancers held their breath as the first of the Mon-Keith vanguard passed under them, then the bulk of their forces were in the trap and the cry went forth, "Strike now my kin!"

"Fly!" Elhyn cried as his Drake spread his wings and leapt from his perch. They burst from the canopy five hundred metres above the Mon-Keigh craft and Elhyn was elated to see the dumb apes had no idea they were there. Ilfavor swept his wings once then tucked them in tight as they dove for the lines of grey machines. Elhyn felt himself become weightless as they plunged, the wind stabbing into his eyes and pulling his features back in a rictus grin. Four hundred metres to go and the invaders had still not responded, blind to the incoming attack. Their speed increased as they passed three hundred metres, diving at a terrific pace. At two hundred metres the Mon-Keigh finally responded, trying to point stubby guns upwards but their craft's design was intended to fire downwards and their arcs were poor. Elhyn was elated to realise the first blood would go to his kinband and his pulse thundered in his ears from exhilaration and giddy anticipation. At one hundred metres he raised Wyrmfang high and braced himself for contact as they stooped upon a wallowing transport. Then Ilfavor dashed past the ugly machine at terrific speed and Elhyn felt his spear move in perfect harmony with his arm, sweeping about in a glittering arc to sheer the wing off their target.

Ilfavor's wings snapped out and Elhyn clung on for all he was worth as a jarring wrench sought to throw him from his seating. The Drake was still plummeting downwards, diving for the underbrush far below. Ilfavor fought to climb out of his dive and Elhyn thought his slender frame would be crushed but slowly their dive was brought to a halt, leaving them soaring along at tremendous speed. Elhyn twisted to gaze back and saw the craft he had hit falling like a stone, trailing flame and smoke from a broken wing. The bulky vessel was spinning wildly and in its death throes it spilled helpless Mon-Keigh from the open doors in its sides, their yellow uniforms stained by soot and smoke. They flailed wildly and screamed as they plummeted towards the ground below, doomed to certain death upon impact.

Elhyn looked up and saw madness and fire in the air. Streaming clouds of Drakes circled the invaders, a dizzying confusion of wings and cackling maws. Their riders struck out with spear and bow, lashing the crude machines with bevvies of darting blows. They had not overshot as Elhyn had but clung tight to the invaders, seeking to sow discord and alarum, their natural weapons could not penetrate metal hides but so great was Eldar eyesight that they struck open doors, wing thrusters and engine intakes regardless. The Mon-Keigh responded with thundering guns and flashing light, seeking to blast the Wind-dancers from the sky. The lumbering transports were stuck in rigid lines and from their open side doors primitives in yellow uniforms swung their weapons about as they blasted wildly. Elsewhere sleeker craft dove into the swirling Drakes, their agile forms chasing flapping beasts across the sky.

Amid that bedlam Panthiro soared straight at a transport, the pair closing at astonishing speed. The craft flashed a spear of light at him but the frantic pilot missed and as his Drake beat beneath him he drew back his bow and let fly a single shot. Driven by his strength and speed the shaft shattered the window before the pilot and stabbed into his heart, killing him instantly and sending his heavily laden transport into a nose-first plummet to the ground. Elsewhere M'sgith and E'raye dodged streams of tracers, their quick hands sending return strikes to harass the Mon-Keigh braced in the open doors. Then through the madness came Celasia, the Dynast's silver Drake coasting along as if on a leisurely jaunt. Behind her a secondary gunner swung a Bright Lance about on its fitted stand and unleashed a spear of energy far more potent than the crude Mon-Keigh weapons. A transport exploded in mid-air, falling out of formation in a shooting star made of dirty flames.

The Eldar attack had fallen upon the invaders most ferociously but they were far from beaten. Brutish figures bellowed as they fired back, catching several Drakes in their crossfires and sending them tumbling to the ground. Faster craft dove and roared amongst them, their dances with evading Drakes describing a ballet of destruction. Elhyn was below the swirling carnage and he could see the devastation unfolding, Ilfavor beat his wings to climb and the young warrior gripped his spear tight as they rose towards another lumbering transport. The foolish gunners fixated on the dashing shapes all around and failed to see him coming and Elhyn's lips drew back in anticipation of the kill.

A moment before he made contact he was rudely interrupted by a hail of silver discs, passing so close he felt their backdraft. Ilfavor cawed in distress and broke right but as he did so Elhyn saw another Mon-Keigh hanging out of a transport further over. This one was different from the rest, for he was wielding a pair of beautiful shuriken pistols and was dressed in flamboyant attire, richer and more finely crafted than his kin. Elhyn knew Mon-Keigh relied on displays of colour to denote authority, like greedy magpyr birds, the shinier the braiding the more senior the rank. This one must be a high leader-beast in their esteem, to be dressed and armed so.

Elhyn was nearly decapitated by another burst and was only saved as Ilfavor jerked left then right. More rounds chased him, cutting off his avenues of escape and he thought for a moment his end had come. Yet just as he ran out of space another intervened, it was E'raye and she flew past the transport in a diving attack, her skilled hands sending a fragmenting nut into a gaping air intake. The craft blew out clouds of smoke as it lurched in the air, struggling to stay aloft on one engine and Elhyn broke free, leaving the leader-beast behind.

With a moment to spare he looked up and saw that The Wind-dancers has struck a most grievous blow and slain many invaders, but they had failed to break apart the Mon-keigh defences. Despite the bold attack the invaders had held true to their rigid formation and kept their forces in order. Now ranks of projectile weapons were blazing in concert, sectioning the sky and forming deadly traps. Drakes swirled and danced around the flashing tracers but they were too many and there was not enough room left to manoeuvre. Before Elhyn's eyes drakes were falling in bloody tangles of torn wings and broken bodies, their riders tumbling helplessly to their deaths far below. Precious lives Elhyn had known for centuries were cut short, their noble spirits no defence against the power of massed projectile weaponry. Through the melee the swifter vanguard craft flashed, blitzing the Drakes with spears of light and thundering guns. The sky was filled with flashing wings and roaring guns, the battle hung upon a knife-edge and the slightest thing could tip it either way, then they came.

From the midst of the Mon-Keigh formation charged forth a pair of machines, larger faster and deadlier than their kin. Unlike the others these were orange-hued and their flanks were hung with many guns. They rode forth like a Leviatatius charging into a herd of prey beasts, their sharp fangs ripping and tearing. Guns thundered independently, chopping the air apart as they tracked and swivelled and under their cruel touch half a dozen Eldar were struck down. Their affront did not go unanswered, for the Dynast's Drake rose in a challenge, her Bright Lance flaring with power. A spear of energy struck the lead craft and caused it to wobble dangerously in the sky, it's nose marred by a terrible furrow but to the shock of all it did not fall, it's hide was proof against such power. Elhyn gasped at the sight, the raw brutal power on display. These craft had turned the tide of the battle and the Wind-dancers had nothing that could match them, this was a fight they could not win.

Celasia affirmed that truth a heartbeat later as she cried, "Fallback! Everybody withdraw!" The cry rang out to all and instantly the Wind-dancers broke away, sweeping about on broad wings to race away in all directions. The Mon-Keigh were taken by surprise and did not know which way to fire as the Eldar scattered, confused as to which direction to give chase. Elhyn made to follow them, steering Ilfavor away but as he did so he spied something odd. One last transport was tumbling from the air, trailing smoke and flame from a damaged engine. It was the very same as had carried that leader-beast, the gaudily clad one with the shuriken pistols. Indeed the brute was hanging out the door, eyes wide and yelling for help as his transport plummeted beneath him. For an instant Elhyn considered letting him tumble to his death but then abruptly changed direction, diving after the falling craft. There was no consideration of mercy or compassion in this act, the leader would have vital knowledge of the invader's plans and capabilities. Knowledge the Wind-dancers needed to reverse their fate.

The transport was falling fast, spewing black smoke but Ilfavor was faster, plunging down with mighty sweeps of his broad wings. Together they fell, machine and Drake, racing to see who could fall faster and to the victor would come certain death. The Mon-keigh saw them coming and instinctively reached out for help, uncaring of where it originated. The ground was looming large in Elhyn's eyes but he stretched out his arm and snagged the Mon-Keigh from the open door, dragging him onto the Drake's back. Instantly Ilfavor pulled up, leaving the burning transport to slam into the ground in a dirty fireball.

The wind nearly tore the pair off the Drake's back but Elhyn held them both in place, gripping with his knees. Finally they levelled out a mere dozen metres from the forest floor and the invader blinked in surprise as he saw who had rescued him. The alien gulped as he stammered in his crude tongue, "I… I thank you. I am Saffor…"

Elhyn silenced him with a sharp and sudden grip around his throat and as they fled the battle he hissed in the uncouth language, "I care not, try to escape and I will drop you to your death. You only breathe to tell me of these invaders, show me how to defeat these interlopers and you may live to spread a warning to the rest of your miserable kin. Hold your tongue and you die by my hand."


	50. Chapter 50

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 50**

The Thunderhawk lurched as something struck it hard, sending Ferrac crashing into the side of his restraint cage. Poisoned Fang was filled with the hammering of heavy bolters and the high-pitched whine of the vectored engines. In the troop bay three squads of Primus waited for deployment, in a normal battle they would be a potent force against any foe but in this fight they were reduced to mere cargo, unable to confront the attackers outside their hull. Ferrac was galled to be standing impotently whilst under attack and he would be damned if he was going watch it play out through remote pict-feeds.

The Battle-Captain shoved his cage up with a frustrated snarl and as he stepped out announced, "I'm going to the cockpit."

Two places down Sergeant Excelsium spoke up, "What are you going to do?"

"Something violent," Ferrac muttered as he stomped down the narrow space between the packed ranks.

The weapons continued to hammer as he reached the ladder to the cockpit and he heard Excelsium's footsteps following him. He ignored the Sergeant as he heaved himself up the ladder and reached the narrow cockpit. In the cramped space a pilot and co-pilot were struggling to control the Thunderhawk, hands blurring as they passed over the controls. Brothers Larin and Curtal, they were first-generation Amber Vipers, in scout armour and they were the best pilots the Chapter could produce. Ferrac knew they were already stretched to the limit so did not interfere, instead gazing out the angular windows, taking in the fight. As far as the eye could see battle raged, the lumbering Valkyries beset by dashing wings and snapping maws. Multi-hued animals flew circles about the Huscarls, while lithe figures on their backs lashed out with bows and whips and spears. It should have been a one-sided slaughter but the Eldar were preternaturally agile and accurate, their weapons finding every chink in the defence and men were toppling out of side doors with foot-long arrows buried in their chests. Here and there the Vulture gunships flew through the melee, breaking up knots of resistance and blasting Eldar from the air, but they were few and the enemy numbered in the hundreds.

With a glance Ferrac saw the humans were failing to hold back the attack, confused and dazzled by the swirling madness under the treetops. Behind him Excelsium gasped, "It's a shambles out there."

Ferrac agreed and made a snap decision. He linked his armour's vox to the Thunderhawk and broadcast to all, "This is Battle-Captain Ferrrac to all pilots. The Xeno filth are trying to lead you, get your arses back into line and present a wall of guns!"

Panicked yells came back, the human pilots confused by the swirling madness filling their eyes but Ferrac barked, "I don't care where the enemy are, get back into formation immediately or I will come over there and personally rip your tongues out!"

Under the Battle-Captain's tender encouragement the Valkyries formed up, creating a solid wall of defence. Heavy bolters presented their barrels on both sides and the gunners fired ceaselessly, unleashing a solid wall of shot. The Eldar attack had relied on sowing confusion in the lines but the Imperial defence was holding, and sheer numbers were denying the Xenos the chance to get in close and wreak carnage. Ferrac smiled evilly as winged beasts were blasted from the sky in droves, then his vox lit and Coluber's voice came over the link, "Nicely done Ferrac, now would you care to join me in a counter-charge?"

Ferrac laughed, "It would be a genuine pleasure. Pilots: forward!"

Poisoned Fang lurched as the pilots fed more power into the engines and the Thunderhawk surged forward, Viper's Bite by her side, bearing the Chapter Master. Together the two gunships broke formation and charged into the midst of the fray, their heavy bolters tracking and firing independently. The Astartes vessels were far superior to the Valkyries and they blasted Eldar from the air, sending them tumbling away in clouds of blood and broken wings. The Eldar reeled under the counter-attack and tried to dash in closer but the gunships were too much for them and sent them scurrying away in desperation.

"More," Ferrac growled as the death toll mounted, "More!"

But then Excelsium yelled, "Look out!"

In their window a silver beast was climbing before them, the glittering charge of some Xeno lascannon flaring on its back. The weapon flared and Poisoned Fang lurched in the air as it was struck. Ferrac felt the craft heave around him and snarled as he was slammed into the bulkhead, the whole gunship dropped six feet as its vectored thrust was knocked out of alignment but the pilot's hands blurred over the controls, feeding compensating power to the thrusters. In moments the Thunderhawk was stable again and Ferrac roared, "All guns, target that filth!"

The heavy bolters swung about to lock on to the silver beast but it was already too late. The Eldar had seen the failure of their champion to bring down the gunship and determined that they could not beat the Astartes in a straight-up fight. Before his eyes they broke and ran, scattering in every direction to avoid being cut down. Poisoned Fang swivelled in mid-air, trying to target some of them with the dorsal battlecannon and lascannons but they were too swift and agile, skipping through the air, rising or falling randomly and darting behind the mighty trees for cover.

Ferrac smashed a fist into chairback, making the pilot jerk in surprise as he voxed, "Request permission to pursue and finish them off!"

Coluber's voice came back, "Permission denied: hold formation."

Ferrac watched the fleeing shapes of the Eldar disappearing and snarled, "Let them go?! We can kill them all right now!"

However Coluber's voice was steel as he admonished, "That is exactly what they want. You know the Eldar, you know how fast they manoeuvre, even this feral breed can run rings around us. They seek to pull apart our formation and then they will double back and pick us off one by one. Our only defence is a strong line and relentless firepower. As long as we hold our nerve, this fight is over."

Ferrac protested, "If we let them go they will regroup and come at us again later."

Coluber however countered, "Once we land we will set up an impenetrable defence. We have their measure now, we know what we face. The Eldar will certainly come back but we will greet them with a wall of firepower, those beasts will fall from the sky in droves. If we chase them we will be isolated and divided. No, we must focus on our goal and move with confidence of victory, to second-guess our plans plays right into their hands."

Excelsium interrupted to say, "Look at that."

Ferrac turned his eyes to where the Sergeant was indicating and saw falling Valkyrie, pursued by a smaller beast. Even as he watched the Eldar rider pulled someone from the craft then soared away, fleeing the battle with a captive. Ferrac hastily cried, "They've got our Rogue Trader, I say again they've taken the Rogue Trader!"

Coluber didn't sound concerned as he said, "So?"

Ferrac blinked in surprise as he said, "You don't want us to stop them?"

Coluber was unmoved as he said, "Saffor Teliday is not vital to the success of this mission, he was merely the Chamandley's observer. We can continue without him."

Ferrac exclaimed, "You're willing to let him die under Xeno knives?"

Coluber countered, "I've never known you to be concerned for mortal lives."

Ferrac snorted, "I'm not, but it's the principle of the thing, letting Xenos take something from us feels wrong."

"Saffor's life is not mission critical," Coluber stated firmly, "We have the coordinates and the way is clear. The Eldar attempted to halt our advance but they failed. We shall continue to our objective, that is my final word on the matter."

The vox snapped off and as the Eldar finally disappeared the Imperials continued their advance. Ferrac stepped back from the cockpit as the pilots steered the Thunderhawk back onto course and the looming forest began to glide past once more. The Battle-Captain was frustrated but he had his orders, the Chapter Master had spoken and he was bound to obey. Sullenly he moved to drop back down the ladder but as he did so Excelsium's hand caught his elbow and the Sergeant hissed, "He should have listened to you."

Ferrac realised then that his vox-link had not been secure and the Sergeant had heard every word that had passed between him and the Chapter Master. He scolded himself for his sloppy error but declared, "The Chapter Master has given us our orders."

Excelsium glanced down into the troop bay to make sure they weren't overheard, then whispered, "Why do you put up with him?"

Ferrac frowned as he said, "What do you mean?"

Excelsium explained, "You are our Captain, you lead us to glory and victory. What does Coluber ever do save fret over supply chains and casualty figures? He is a quill-pusher, you should be directing our battles, not him."

Ferrac eyes narrowed dangerously as he hissed, "Chapter Master Coluber has broader concerns than we do. The entire Chapter is in his hands, he must ensure we survive. He was right to say chasing the Eldar would be fool's errand, we would be picked off one by one."

"Pah," Excelsium spat, "Caution and cowardice, we are Astartes, glory in blood and death is our fate not counting bolt shells. Coluber is a distant and uncaring lord, he doesn't have the fire to lead, but you do."

Ferrac stepped closer to Excelsium, getting into his personal space as he growled, "Is that some form of threat?"

Excelsium blinked at the dangerous tone in his voice and replied, "No, I speak not for myself but all of Primus. Your voice should be dominant in our decisions. We chafe at being held back, we want to fight as a Chapter of Astartes should. We yearn for glory and honour in battle, as do you. We've all heard you gnawing at the leash he places upon us."

Ferrac shook his head and said, "If we had the strength of a full Chapter then we would already be doing so, but we are not yet that force. Coluber is guiding us towards that goal and one day we will be such a power, but until then we must be cunning and patient. This mission takes us towards that worthy goal, once we have what we came for the Amber Vipers will be a name to be feared. My hearts ache to reap Eldar skulls as much as yours, but ultimately they are nothing to us. We are here for the armour and the Starship… nothing else matters."

Excelsium lowered his eyes as he said, "I understand, the time is not ripe… but when that day comes the Brothers will look to you to lead them."

Ferrac nodded as he said, "Rest assured when we are ready I will be glad to lead you into war. Now back to your place and speak no more of this. I'd hate to have to call you out in the fighting arena."

Excelsium grinned as he said, "Emperor forfend, I would forsake my armour first and fight Heretics naked rather than challenge you. Nobody wants to confront you in a duel."

Ferrac affected a scowl as he spat, "Is that why I am never challenged, everybody is too cowardly to face me?"

Excelsium laughed, "We're brave souls, but we're not stupid enough for that."

"Go," Ferrac ordered with a wry grin.

Excelsium turned and dropped back into the troop bay as Ferrac glanced back into the cockpit and called, "How long to the destination?"

Brother Larin replied, "We're on the move again, at current speed we should reach the objective coordinates in forty minutes."

"Good," Ferrac stated, "The sooner I get my feet on solid ground the better. I don't believe for a second the Eldar are gone for good, when they come back I want to face them with my axe in hand."

With that he departed and headed back to his restraint cage. He meant what he had said, he was certain this confrontation had only been a warm-up. The prize was in sight but in his bones he was sure it wouldn't be so easy to claim it. Iron certainty filled him that there would be bloodshed before this was over and he welcomed the prospect. Excelsium wasn't the only one chafing for a righteous fight.


	51. Chapter 51

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 51**

The village of the Wind-dancers was filled with mourning, the keening cry of loss mixed with tears of grief. Songs of lament carried through the still air, making the branches resonate as if they were shaking in sorrow. Lights were dimly lit and too many homes were silent, their occupants never coming back. Drakes fretted as the anguished aura washed over them, feeling the pain of their bonded riders, they shuffled on their perches and snapped their wings randomly as they shared in the grief. The Wind-dancer's noble effort to thwart the invasion of the Everforest had failed, they had fallen short and lost scores of their fellows to the brutal gunfire of the invaders.

Yet in a gaol shaped out of the heart of a tree Elhyn was not sharing the mourning, in fact he was angry. In the shallow cave the Mon-keigh prisoner sat on a stool grown from the material of the tree. He was bound by many ropes and his fine clothing was torn in places, his pistols were missing and his face was covered in bloody welts and many bruises. His time among the Eldar had not been kind, he had been beaten repeatedly yet stubbornly refused to talk. He was keeping his mouth shut no matter what. Elhyn's frustration was mounting, he needed to learn what this animal knew, the filthy ape held the key to understanding the invaders who had come to Athelling and in his head lurked the way to defeat them.

Panthiro's fist blurred as he struck the ape across the face once more and barked, "Speak!"

The Mon-Keigh kept his mouth shut as his eyes glaring defiance. Elhyn was sitting across from him on another stool, with Wyrmfang laid across his knees and in the crude tongue he uttered, "We can continue or you can tell us what we what to know."

The Mon-Keigh slurred through a mouthful of blood, "If I tell you, you'll have no reason to keep me alive."

Panthiro growled as he raised his bloody fists and snarled, "Then I'll beat it out of you, no matter how long it takes."

The ape worked his jaw painfully for a moment then spat defiantly, "I can last as long as I have to."

Elhyn was no expert in the uncouth language, he had only a smattering of words taken from the occasional prisoner before they were executed, yet he caught something in the expression. The Mon-keigh was weakening and in his delirium he had let something slip. He chewed on it for a second, trying to parcel the meaning from the language, then he saw it, the Mon-keigh thought his time here was limited because he assumed he would be rescued.

Elhyn leaned in and said, "No one is coming for you, your warrior-caste has left you to die."

For the first time the Mon-Keigh looked worried as he stammered, "No… they wouldn't."

Elhyn smirked as he said, "They carried on without you, flying to the Vale of Midnight Tears. They lifted not a finger to save you; they care not if you die at our hands."

The Mon-Keigh's expression fell and Elhyn jerked his head at Panthiro, indicating they should leave. The pair moved to the doorway and switched tongues to their native language as Elhyn said, "Let him chew on that for a time, despair will sap his will."

Panthiro growled, "Let me fetch a knife and I will be faster."

"We are not crude beasts, we have subtler arts than that," another voice interjected. That was Laegwen the Treesinger, she was waiting outside the door along with M'sgith and E'raye. They had been listening in, to discern anything the Mon-Keigh might unwittingly reveal. Elhyn looked at his sister and his grip on Wyrmfang shook in concern for the treesinger looked like she had aged three centuries since the invasion had begun. Her eyes were hollow pits and her hair was bedraggled, her skin was sickly and her shoulders were stooped. He understood why all too well, the Treesinger dove deeper into the song of Athelling than any other, she was a part of it. The Mon-Keigh invasion had violated the Everforest, tearing and rending the World spirit and Laegwen had felt it like it had been her own skin suffering under their filthy touch. Every tree felled, every bush burnt, every animal crushed under a caterpillar track, they were knives in her heart and the toll it took upon her was terrible indeed.

Thankfully E'raye interrupted to say, "We need that animal to talk, we've never faced a foe like this."

M'sgith agreed, "The normal Mon-Keigh we could have handled, but that warrior-caste were of a different order. We were no match for them."

Panthiro shook his head and said, "They must have a weakness, everything does, all we have to do is find it. Did your old tales say anything about how our fathers defeated the last lot?"

Elhyn sighed, "No, it was only a passing tale, brief and lacking in detail. I thought it was a mere skirmish but now I wonder if our forebears wished not to speak of it. If our own battle was any indication then it would be something they would want to forget.

Laegwen lamented, "Some things are too painful to remember, some loss too great to bear. Songs will not be sung of this day."

M'sgith hissed, "We can't give up, the Vale of Midnight Tears lies open and undefended. We have to act."

E'raye concurred, "The Kinsmoot draws near, many tribes united as one can beat this enemy."

"Only if they agree to fight beside us," Elhyn sighed, "Many of them have been our rivals for generations. We need something to convince them the threat is real. We need to show them how powerful this enemy is, else all our efforts are for nought."

Panthiro flexed his fists and said, "Give me another go, I can beat it out of him."

Laegwen's eyes became hard as she uttered, "There are more effective ways. I have tinctures and poultices that can beguile the spirit. With secret arts I can take force his mind open, admittedly there won't be much of his intellect left afterwards but it is a small price…"

Laegwen trailed off as her eyes went wide and she gazed over Elhyn's shoulder. He tensed as he sensed someone approaching and turned about to see his mother descending a flight of steps from a higher landing. The Dynast had been overseeing the rites of mourning and her face was marked with ceremonial tears of ash. Yet her regal bearing was unbroken, and her head was held high. At her belt were the twin Shuriken pistols taken from the prisoner, their elegant forms fitting her far better than they did the ape. She looked every inch the ruler of the kinband and her frown was not approving.

Celasia came to stand before them and passed her cool gaze over them as she asked, "What have you learned?"

Elyhn fought to keep his emotions in check as he answered, "We are working to loosen his tongue, it will take time to unearth his secrets."

Celasia didn't sound impressed as she stated flatly, "In other words you have discovered nothing."

Panthiro clenched his bloodied knuckles and declared, "Give the animal to me, I can break him."

The Dynast glanced at his bruised fists and then said, "No, you will cease your crude efforts."

Elhyn was surprised to hear that and protested, "But we need to learn what he knows."

Celasia nodded as she declared, "Indeed we do, but the Kinmoot is at dawn and we have not the time to wear this Mon-keigh down, they are a stubborn breed. Thankfully there is more than one way to skin a Pearacat. Force is but the rudest tool at a ruler's command. Panthiro, go to my chambers and bring me the largest chest, the one with the Wythlwood embossing."

Panthiro glanced at his friends but then set off towards the Dynast's chambers. Meanwhile Celasia adjusted her robe and squared her jaw. Laegwen cocked her head and asked, "What are you planning?"

Celasia replied, "I will show you how it's done."

Celasia stepped within the gaol and the others followed. Inside the Mon-Keigh remained tied down, his head lowered over his lap but he looked up as they entered, revealing his battered features. The Dynast lowered herself onto a stool across from him and primly adjusted her robes then lifted her chin and said in the crude Mon-Keigh tongue, "You have suffered."

The animal spat a bloody wad of phlegm onto the ground, making everybody grimace in disgust, then replied, "I've had worse."

Celasia stated calmly, "You don't have to suffer more; it is only your foolish pride that keeps you in pain."

The animal peered at her and said, "Oh I see, I've had the bad Arbites… now it's time for the good Arbites?"

Nobody understood that reference but Celasia replied, "I am the Dynast of the Wind-dancers, I rule these woods."

The Mon-Keigh grinned then to everybody complete surprise said in the Eldar language, "Good, I've been waiting for somebody with the authority to treat with me." Elhyn was stunned by the revelation that this animal spoke the Eldar tongue. True it was a hash of an accent, missing all the subtle inflexions and contextual intonations of a true speaker, but it wasn't a bad pass. Elhyn gulped as he thought back over their conversation and he wondered how much of their talk the Mon-Keigh had understood. There was more to this invader than he had realised.

However Celasia didn't so much as blink as she stated in the same tongue, "What is your name?"

"Saffor Teliday," the Mon-Keigh replied cautiously.

"Saffor," Celasia repeated as she drew a shuriken pistol and held it upright between them, "Where did you come by this?"

Saffor answered, "I didn't steal them off a corpse, if that's what you think. I'm a Rogue Trader; I traded for them fair and square."

"Not a general, no warmonger, merely a trader," Celasia mused in puzzlement and asked, "Is that a rank of importance among your kind?"

"Depends on who you ask," Saffor retorted, "I have many friends in high places and many enemies. I am a free agent mostly, I go wherever I want, fighting and trading and conquering as I will."

"A Corsair," Elhyn stated as understanding dawned.

Saffor glanced up and admitted, "I suppose so."

Celasia leaned in and asked, "Then why were you travelling with the invaders?"

Saffor shrugged as best he was able in his bonds and explained, "I have debts to pay and the prospect of treasure beckoned. We know about the lost starship and the bounty within is beyond compare."

"Treasure," E'raye spat, "You rape our forest and violate our forbidden borders for the sake of material baubles."

Saffor didn't look admonished as he said, "Every man has his price and there are many kinds of treasure. I'm sure there are things you desire, objects of such worth you wouldn't mind breaking a few rules to obtain."

Elhyn tightened his grip on Wrymfang, for that struck uncomfortably close to his heart. He had defied orders to acquire this weapon and the thought that he could have anything in common with a Mon-keigh was unsettling. Celasia however pressed, "And your friends, what do they want?"

Saffor's grin faded as he said, "That information is all that's keeping me alive, if I speak then you have no reason to keep me breathing."

Celasia's face became cold as she hissed, "If you keep silent we will kill you anyway. Is your life not worth a few words?"

Saffor snorted, "If I leave this place empty-handed I'm as good as dead anyway. I owe people, the kind of people who take debts very seriously."

Elhyn was about to bark out a threat but right then Panthiro returned, carrying a heavy chest in his arms. He set it down as Celasia uttered, "There is no reason for you to leave this place impoverished."

Saffor's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he muttered, "What's this?"

Celasia answered, "A man such as you would never yield to force, but the right lever can open any door. As you said: every man has his price."

With that her foot flicked open the lid of the chest, revealing the contents. Inside was the bounty of the Kinband's trade with the Craftworlds. There were fashioned jewels set in golden fittings of a quality beyond the hands of foolish Mon-Keigh artisans and glittering holo-devices. Delicate psychically-imbued crystals were piled next to intricate artefacts shaped out of precious Wraithbone. A tiny model of the galaxy as it was before the Fall was encased in a flawless resin sphere the size of a melon and there was a lute that hummed with the celestial music of the spheres. Such gewgaws were of little use to the hardy Exodites but they had been part of their trade deals with the Craftworlders, petty gifts to open the bartering in good faith. Elhyn saw Saffor's eyes go wide and knew the Mon-Keigh was calculating the net value of this chest amongst his kind. Such items must surely be worth a fortune in their stagnant and decrepit empire, the fact that they were illegal only making them more valuable in certain corners.

It seemed the Rogue Trader liked the result of his deliberations for he looked up and said, "You should have opened with this. So… what do you want to know?"

Celasia smiled serenely as she said, "Tell me of these warrior-caste Mon-Keigh. Tell me of their numbers, strategies and weapons. Talk of their strengths and weaknesses and reveal how I can beat them. Tell me everything."


	52. Chapter 52

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 52**

Bane's melta hissed as it cut deeply into the tree, slicing the trunk apart. The anti-tank weapon was designed to punch through reinforced armour and it tore through the wood with ease as it moved sideways. Bark incinerated in seconds, wood charred to ashes and sap boiled away as the sub-fusion beam bored deeply into the trunk and out the other side. Then it snapped off, leaving a vicious slice in the heart of the kilometre high tree.

"Cease," Kerubim ordered and the Vorax obeyed instantly, stepping back from the target. He waited a moment as the scent of scalded sap clung to his nostrils then moved in and examined the trunk. He was satisfied by the result, the cut was in perfect alignment and he swiftly determined the next angle of attack. He stepped back and muttered a string of numbers to Bane, setting the next shot into its cyborg consciousness and then looked about. As far as he could see bustling workers toiled, human Huscarls working side by side with the Amber Vipers. They were burning away the underbrush and shovelling the ground, as others paced up and down with Auspex scanners in hand. Further out a perimeter guard stood watch, protecting the dig site against further attacks. It was a picture of busy industry but most importantly nobody was standing in his designated drop zone.

"Attack," Kerubim ordered and Bane leapt to obey, its melta gun firing once more with the hissing of oxygen molecules being evaporated. Again the tree was sliced by a super-hot beam of energy and the two cuts came together, describing a thick wedge in the bulk of the trunk. The beam snapped off and the tree sat steaming for a second, then it began to groan. Kerubim hastily took a step back as the bark began to splinter and shatter, spraying splinters in all directions. The immense tree had just had a significant portion of its lower reach removed and the stress was too much. The titanic weight pulled it to one side as it began an inevitable fall to one side. Kerubim had precisely calculated the angle of the fall to take it away from the humans but still showers of wooden splinters pinged off his armour and nicked his face as the mighty tree careened over. It was an impressive thing to see a kilometre tall tree topple over and the noise it made filled the world with thunder as its distant summit plummeted downwards, slamming into the dirt over a kilometre away. Kerubim waited for the rain of displaced mud and twigs to settle then called, "Area clear, move in."

From a safe distance came a gaggle of Huscarls and Snakelet-scouts from Tertitus Cohort. They instantly set to work, shovelling earth away and hacking at roots with las-cutters. In a few minutes they had cleared a small amount of debris but still one of the youths muttered, "Damned roots, they're harder than plasteel. It's going to take ages to reach the auspex return."

Kerubim was untroubled as he replied, "We will keep working as long as we have to. The auspex says there is something big buried under this tree, possibly a cluster of power armours or maybe even another tank."

The crew continued working, digging to reach the buried treasure. Kerubim however turned his eyes to take in the scene, observing the efforts of the Amber Vipers to recover their prize. Everywhere men and Astartes laboured, covering themselves in muck as they sought the buried armour. Elsewhere the perimeter was watched by Squads of Primus with bolters held ready and dug-in heavy weapons emplacements manned by mortals, while the Vulture gunships sat on the rough ground, engines idling in readiness. The noise of the camp was a hearty beat of industry mixed with the shouting of work gangs. Kerubim looked up and saw a slice of sky overhead. He had personally felled a dozen trees, clearing the area of obstructions and opening a means for their transports to exit the dig-site without having to traverse the forest itself. That was a greatly welcome prospect, the idea of braving the Eldar again was sub-optimal. Kerubim feared no enemy but their numbers were not limitless and the weight of their prizes would slow them down. Better to leave as fast as possible once they had their treasure in hand.

Suddenly his vox squawked and Coluber's voice ordered, "Kerubim, report to my position."

"Order confirmed," Kerubim voxed back as he set off.

The young marine walked with a brisk step, his Vorax in tow. They passed various workgangs in their deepening pits and was pleased to see the first signs of Ceramite chassis starting to emerge from the dirt. Their angular frames were unlike anything else on this feral planet, distinctly imperial in make. Kerubim had studied the STC lore about Astartes wargear in depth was certain some of the shapes were Rhino transports, while another had a proud missile launcher array on its roof, unmistakably a Hunter anti-air tank. In other places men were dragging suits of power armour out piece by piece, their proud colours had been worn away by centuries of erosion but the Ceramite had proved inviolable to the ravages of time. Even as he watched a whole suit was lifted out of a pit, caked in mud but otherwise intact, as was the bulky plasma cannon strapped to its chest. It was an exhilarating sight, already the expedition to Athelling had recovered enough war gear to boost the Amber Viper's martial power significantly and there was every indication that yet more artefacts lay buried, waiting to be recovered.

Kerubim soon found the Chapter Master, standing near to Viper's Bite along with Battle-Captain Ferrac and a mortal Huscarl, Vesurgo of the Chamandley's Household guard if Kerubim recalled correctly. The mortal's voice was trembling as he addressed the Transhuman warriors but still he dared to say, "It will be getting dark soon."

Coluber replied indifferently, "Then we will have to rig up some floodlights."

Vesurgo shook his head and said, "That's not what I mean, my men have been labouring all day. You've been driving them non-stop since we arrived, they need a rest."

"Mortal weaklings," Ferrac muttered is disdain.

Yet Coluber stated, "If your arms grow tired then have your men rotate out with the perimeter guards."

"Tired men make mistakes, we're not like you. We can't last forever," Vesurgo protested.

Coluber was unmoved as he said, "We are no less tired than you, but the Emperor gives us fire. Perhaps you should address your men and put some vim into their spirits."

Vesurgo's face creased as he spat, "Easy for you to say, you didn't lose a man on the way here. I lost eight Valkyries and a hundred and nine soldiers to the Xenos attack!"

Ferrac leaned down and held his gun's grip as he snarled, "Care to make it a hundred and ten?"

Vesurgo's courage wilted in the face of the Battle-Captain's ire but Coluber stated firmly, "You have the authority to rotate your men as you see fit, but the digging will continue. Go make whatever arrangements you require... now."

Vesurgo seemed to decide discretion was the better part of valour and hurried away. Meanwhile Kerubim saluted his Chapter Master and declared, "Reporting as ordered."

Coluber glanced at him and said, "Yes good, I require a report on our progress."

Kerubim had been overseeing the excavation and said, "In the last twelve hours we have made excellent progress, we have identified the borders of the battlefield the Rogue Trader stumbled upon and are certain that everything of worth is concentrated within this small area. The first finds are being brought up now and we have several more promising leads to explore."

Ferrac sniffed, "Seems a small area, for so grand a battle."

Kerubim awkwardly admitted, "I have made an initial assessment of the discovery, I am sorry to say that Saffor Teliday overestimated the scale of the Howling Griffon's force. There isn't a Company here, not even close."

Coluber cocked his head and said, "Then what do we have?"

Kerubim drew in a breath and said, "Its a rough estimate, but given Auspex readings I can tentatively say we are looking at the remains of three Tactical squads and at least one scout-squad. Plus Rhinos and a Hunter tank."

Ferrac snorted, "Given the enemy we faced the Howling Griffons would have been better advised to bring a Stalker."

"Hindsight is always perfect," Coluber demurred, "Was there anything else?"

Kerubim nodded, "I have two strong returns, probably main battle tanks of some description but without clearer readings I can't identify the pattern yet."

Coluber turned to an open pit and said, "And tell me what you make of this."

Kerubim frowned as he saw a shape emerging from the dirt, unearthed one spadeful at a time. It was smaller and lighter than any tank design he had studied, sleeker and with turbine engines set before an open cockpit and a small open section in the middle. Kerubim had never seen the like but guessed, "A Land Speeder?"

"Land Speeder Storm," Coluber confirmed, "A rare find."

Ferrac nodded, "Our discovery may only be three squad's worth, but its still more than we've seen in years. This haul will take the Amber Vipers to greatness."

Coluber mused, "The question is how to get it out of here."

Kerubim proposed, "I recommend using the Thunderhawks to fly everything out, they're the only craft with the lift capacity to carry the vehicles."

Coluber lifted an eyebrow and queried, "That means sending a significant portion of our firepower away."

Yet Ferrac snorted, "Its that or level half the forest to let the Angantyr land."

Coluber concurred, "Very well, we will hold this position until the prizes are safely in our holds. Yet we cannot ignore the remainder of our mission."

"My lord?" Kerubim asked in confusion.

Coluber explained, "Recovering the Howling Griffon's wargear was only half our mission, we have yet to reach the lost starship. According to our readings it is fifteen kilometres further on from this location."

Ferrac hissed, "The Howling Griffons got so close then fell within sight of their goal."

Coluber agreed, "A tragedy but where they failed we shall succeed. I shall remain here and oversee the recovery efforts, Ferrac, take Excelsium squad to probe ahead and take Kerubim with you."

"Me?" Kerubim squawked in surprise.

"You're our tech-expert," Coluber replied, "You are best suited to understand the mysteries that lie ahead. I would summon Nathanal but there are troubling radiation emissions from the location, only a Space Marine can go. This dig is well in hand, you shall accompany the Battle-Captain"

Kerubim bowed to the order but in his hearts he could not help but imagine what lay ahead. A lost starship, undisturbed since the Dark Age of Technology, he wondered what mysteries it held and what dangers. This was an opportunity such as might come but once in a lifetime. He was eager to proceed and confront those perils immediately but sadly in his exuberance he forgot to consider the danger behind.


	53. Chapter 53

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 53**

The sacred glade was heavy with the weight of expectation, the gathered Wind-dancers looking for the first sign of their guests. Under the first touch of dawn's light they stood upon the piled rocks, spears and bows held ready should a wandering predator appear or for the first hint of treachery. They were awaiting the commencement of the kinsmoot and though the sacred glades should grant the peace of parley it was hardly guaranteed. Eldar emotions ran quick and deep, oft spilling into violence and such meetings had degenerated into bloody strife before.

Near the summit of the hill Elhyn stood by his mother and scanned the Everforest for the arrival of the other tribes. He kept Wyrmfang close, ready to use at a moment's notice for he was surprisingly nervous, the only times he had ever seen the other tribes was when they raided his lands, or if he was honest when he was raiding theirs. The idea of having all the tribes together in one place was disquieting but it had to be, the Wind-dancers could not fight the invasion of Athelling on their own. Nearby stood Laegwen, the Treesinger looking dishevelled and tired. Yet Elhyn looked at his mother and was amazed at how calm she looked, regal and unflappable, if she felt the same as he did she did not reveal a hint. Another soul however was not so composed.

Behind them the Mon-keigh Saffor was standing with his shoulders hunched against the dark. His rough treatment was still evident on his face but he was no longer bound. He had been surprisingly helpful, laying out the strength of the invading force, their numbers, skills and firepower in exacting detail. He had described their tactics and methodology, and the unbending iron will of their warrior-caste. Elhyn had been surprised at his candour but it seemed the application of sufficient wealth was enough to loosen his tongue, a lesson worth remembering.

Saffor stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together for warmth as he said in the Eldar tongue, "I don't see why I have to be here."

Celasia didn't deign to look at him as she retorted, "You are here to speak before the kinsmoot, they will want to hear you testify."

Saffor sniffed, "I doubt they'll believe me."

"They better had, if you want to survive," Elhyn snapped, "If you have led us false I will end your miserable life."

Saffor looked at him with a mockingly pained expression and said, "You wound me, to think I wouldn't tell you the truth. We have a deal, and I always stick to my deals. My word is my bond."

Laegwen snorted, "You twist words like raindrops in the wind, nothing you say can be trusted."

Saffor let loose a small grin as he said, "No, not really. But you can rest assured I know what's in my best interest. I haven't lied to you; I know you'll never let me go without the truth."

There was a sudden whispering beyond the trees and all eyes lifted to take in the darkness lurking in the distance. Hissing noises betrayed the approach of a great many bodies, all hanging back just out of sight. Elhyn felt the disturbance sweep over him and knew the other tribes had arrived, yet they did not appear. He frowned in confusion and mused, "What are they waiting for?"

Laegwen uttered, "They are here, I can feel their breath moving the trees."

Elhyn queried, "Then why don't they appear?"

Saffor muttered under his breath, "Probably deciding an order of precedence among themselves, determining who had the most authority."

Elhyn sneered, "Don't compare us to your pathetic race, we are not so mean and petty as Mon-Keigh."

But Saffor only laughed, "Keep telling yourself that, maybe you'll come to believe it one day."

"Enough," Celasia snapped, "Here they come."

Elhyn looked up and saw several figures emerging into the clearing, each one riding a different order of beast. These were the Dynasts of the clans bordering the lands of the Wind-dancers, old rivals and enemies of his kinband. They came alone, confident that no violence would befall them since the vast bulk of their people lay waiting in the darkness beyond. Should the Wind-dancers offer violence their retribution would be terrible. All knew it to be true, a better guarantee of peace than any sacred prohibition.

First came a surprisingly young warrior, wearing garments of tanned leather and carrying a shining lance tipped with an energised crystal. He was riding a two-legged Tfysis or 'Longstrider', its reptilian skin glistening and its heavy tail sweeping out behind to balance it. It had long legs, ending in sharp talons and thin arms but its jaw was heavy with many vicious teeth. It moved with startling speed and grace, carrying its rider in bounding leaps that could surpass any Drake in speed. The rider was Galahyn, a bloodthirsty warmonger who defended the Swift-runner kinband's land with great vigour.

Next came a proud soul with a haughty bearing. He wore grey robes of fine make and bore a long rifle in the crook of his arm, a craftworld Lasblaster. He rode a quadruped animal with thick legs and bulbous flanks and a short tail. Its mouth was flanked by two ivory tusks and its face was a bony crest similar to a Drake's much heavier than any flying beast could manage. Over its head rose a bony frill that shielded the rider, who was tucked into the base of its neck. This was a Pstrys or 'Leviatatus', one of the most feared predators on Athelling and it was a point of pride for the Bloody-talon kinband that they had bonded with the ruthless hunters. The rider was Gonredil, a suspicious soul whose defence of his lands had been nearly impenetrable.

At his side rode a stern-faced female, in a suit of armour made of hardened carapace. She rode a Cytrss or 'Chellonian' a towering beast whose body was encased in a thick shell. Four stout legs emerged from the shell and a stumpy tail, then there was a broad head that ended in a hooked beak. The crown of the beast bore a Reaper launcher and Elhyn knew firsthand how powerful that weapon was, and how impenetrable the Chellonian's shell was. The rider was Olalath, Dynast of the Stone-Hearts and she was famously rigid and unbending in her judgements.

Over them all flew a massive orange beast, three times the size of a drake. This was a Tytyss or 'Kraken' and its broad wings supported a thick torso with feet large enough to snap an Eldar in half and a beak wide enough to swallow them afterwards. Krakens were the largest flying animal on Athelling, so big they could only just navigate between the trees. Elhyn had duelled with them many times and found them awkward and cumbersome, compared to a Drake, but he could not doubt their strength and ferocity in combat. Riding on its back was a savage warrior wearing many skins painted with blood. This was Dalsaar, Dynast of the Kraken-riders and most zealous rival of Celasia's rule over these lands, an old and bitter enemy.

Together the four Dynasts approached the hill, then made their beasts stop just short. Each of them dismounted without looking at the others, declaring their mutual disdain. They stepped forward as one, climbing the hill with regal poise, passing the waiting Eldar without deigned to acknowledge their existence. As they approached Celasia muttered, "Only four kinbands answered the call… I had hoped for more."

Laegwen whispered, "Be grateful, had more come then bloodshed would be certain. Four is the best we could hope for."

As the Dynasts crested the ridgeline Celasia stepped forward and lifted her arms to proclaim, "Welcome noble leaders to this kinmoot. The ancestors watch over us this day and I offer thanks and praise for your…"

Dalsaar cut her off with a sneering retort, "You can skip the rituals, we're already here."

Gasps arose at his calculated insult and Laegwen snapped, "These traditions are sacred!"

Yet Galahyn grumbled, "You called, we came. Let's get on with it."

Elhyn realised that none of the Dynasts were particularly interested in ritual greetings or lengthy discourses on etiquette. They were not friends but rivals and this meeting would last only as long as their patience held out. He hurriedly stepped forward and said, "We called you because danger comes to Athelling. A Mon-Keigh force has invaded the Everforest, they drive for the Vale of Midnight Tears."

Olalath sniffed, "I hardly see how that is our concern."

"Yes," Gonredil uttered, "Kill them and be done with it."

Elhyn lowered his eyes and said, "We have faced them once and been driven back. The invaders are different this time, more powerful and deadly."

In response Dalsaar laughed scornfully, "The Wind-dancers could not defeat a bunch of Mon-keigh, how feeble you have become."

Celasia stepped in, glaring at her son for speaking out of turn, and said, "These are not typical Mon-keigh, they are warrior-caste. Such as those who befouled our forests in the time of our fathers. They seek that which is forbidden, they seek to let loose the doom of Athelling."

Galahyn started in shock, "Warrior-caste, here?! My Father fought the last of them who dared come to Athelling and he wept for the piles of dead left in their wake. They must not be allowed to violate our world once more!"

Gonredil replied coolly, "I too know of these tales and I know the cost of facing the warrior-caste. I will not spill the blood of my kinband in a worthless cause."

Dalsaar concurred, "Let the Wind-dancers bleed, it is their lands being violated. This does not concern the Kraken-riders."

Then Laegwen spat, "You fools! I have seen the doom of Athelling, I have seen what they seek to unleash. The Vale of Midnight Tears must not be violated; else the Everforest shall wither and die."

Olalath declared, "My Treesinger too speaks of this doom, he has foreseen a tragedy unfold. The torment of the World Spirit gnaws at him night and day. We must act, the Stone-hearts will not stand by and allow this tragedy to pass."

Galahyn agreed, "Let us ride forth and send these Mon-keigh to their graves for their trespasses!"

Elhyn was gladdened to hear them speak so but Dalsaar sneered, "Vague prophecies and dire omens, pah. This is Farseer talk and I will have none of it. What could be so dangerous as to threaten an entire world?"

"Hear for yourself," Celasia replied gesturing Saffor forward.

Gonredil looked like a beast had taken a dump on his boot as he sneered, "A Mon-Keigh?"

"Hear him out," Elhyn urged, "He will explain the danger."

Saffor looked at the circle of hostile faces nervously but he spoke clearly, "We came seeking an ancient treasure, a lost starship that crashed on Athelling millennia ago. It fell during the Dark Age of Technology, when man's power was at its zenith."

Olalath cut him off, "We already know this, for our memories are better than yours. When the Eldar empire was at its height and your feeble species were mere apes grubbing around the edges of our aegis our forefathers came to Athelling, seeking to join the song. They saw this craft fall from the stars and instantly knew it contained poison. In their wisdom they set wards to contain its filth and commanded all generations that followed them to stay away. Your kind does not understand the danger, they seek that which they cannot control and it will destroy them."

Saffor shook his head as he said, "That won't stop them, they want that ship no matter the cost. The Space Marines are fanatical in their zeal, nothing will dissuade them from their course once set. They will break any ward, shatter any barrier to get their hands on the contents of that ship. They will take it for their own and drag its secrets into the light."

Celasia proclaimed, "The Wind-dancers alone cannot stop this doom, only together can we avert disaster."

Olalath declared, "If the Mon-Keigh get their hands on that ship they will destroy not only themselves but us too. I will not let that happen, the Stone-hearts will fight alongside the Wind-dancers."

Galahyn agreed, "Fates and prophecies be damned, these Mon-Keigh have violated our lands, I want blood. The Swift-runners shall fight!"

Gonredil lowered his head and said, "Only a fool ignores the gathering storm. We must fight or die, the Bloody-talons choose to fight."

All eyes slid to Dalsaar but the Dynast crossed his arms and said, "This is foolish, I will have no part in it."

Elhyn gasped, "But without all kinbands we cannot win!"

Dalsaar sneered, "Dead Wind-dancers give me no cause to weep."

Laegwen spat, "You doom Athelling for the sake of petty pride!"

Gonredil agreed, "Your kinband shall ever be marked out as cowards, the Kraken-riders shall be outcast for three generations."

Dalsaar didn't look bothered as he said, "I care nothing for the opinions of one who walks upon the ground. We soar above all and none of you can challenge us. We fight for our own prosperity and protection, unless you can offer more we will not join you in battle."

Elhyn was outraged at that but Saffor spoke out, "You want to be paid?"

Celasia's eyes narrowed as she hissed, "You can't mean…"

Dalsaar grinned wickedly as he said, "I do, I want what you owe me. What your late husband took from me."

Celasia spat, "It was never yours, he bested you fairly and without trickery."

Elhyn had no idea what they were talking about and said, "What do you speak of?"

Dalsaar laughed, "I see you never told the whelp about how his father duped me, that will be a fun conversation. But for now I want my due, give me the Star of Vandiala, which you stole from me, and my kinband shall ride forth."

Celasia we turning red in outrage, but through gritted teeth she hissed, "You are a petty and spiteful wretch but as the World Spirit is my witness it shall be yours… after the battle is won.

Dalsaar smirked, "Good enough, now shall we discuss how we are to defeat these Mon-Keigh?"

Elhyn was confused as to what had just happened, but at least the tribes were united. He wasn't sure what it had cost his mother but they now had the forces they needed to defeat the interlopers. Together the Eldar would strike down the invaders of Athelling and cleanse their world of their filthy kind. He was sure that the Mon-keigh would stand no chance against what was coming for them.


	54. Chapter 54

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 54**

White Condor hummed as it sat upon the raw ground, its engines idling. Amid the bustle of the dig site it lurked like a bird of prey surveying the landscape, waiting for prey to wander across its path. Sergeant Reddam kept a watchful eye upon the systems while also sweeping the environment for the first sign of danger, a simple exercise in multi-tasking for a Space Marine. Alongside him the other Vultures sat in readiness, his squad and the others all held in a state of alert watchfulness.

Reddam ran his eyes over the controls but as he did so Glord remarked from the gunner's position, "Would you look at that." Reddam glanced over and saw ten Brothers of Primus pushing a Rhino transport backwards. It was caked in filth and mud, its tracks encased in the detritus of a thousand years of burial, but ten power armoured Space Marines was more than enough to push it anyway. They forced it up the ramp of the Thunderhawk Poisoned Fang, barely fitting it into the cargo bay, then stepped back. The ramp whined closed and then the gunship rumbled as its engines built in power. A moment later it lifted off, rising vertically on vector thrust into the gap in the canopy. It became smaller and smaller as it disappeared, beginning the slow haul into orbit where the Amber Viper's small fleet awaited.

Glord mused, "Is that three or four?"

Reddam returned his eyes to his scanning as he replied, "Three."

Glord sounded amazed as he pondered, "Imagine what this will mean for the Chapter, to drive into war with such power at our command."

The vox crackled as Larus called from his own Vulture, "You won't see it in action, Secundus Cohort will go back to our bikes. This new wargear will be reserved for Primus Cohort."

"Speak for yourself," Joffel chortled, "I plan to rise to Primus within the decade!"

"Not if you don't win more glory," Kazao countered, "Only the best and the brightest join Primus."

Joffel retorted, "You doubt my skill with a blade?"

Kazao laughed, "I doubt your brains, Battle-Captain Ferrac demands the best from his Marines. That takes smarts, as much a good sword arm."

Reddam frowned in consternation as he snapped, "Focus! You're not in the barracks anymore, this is still a warzone and our enemies could be back at any time."

Tebes retorted, "Eldar weaklings, we beat them already. It was easy, barely an inconvenience."

"Too right," Glord agreed, "We sent them packing, they won't be back."

Reddam wasn't so sure; he remembered the ambush on their way to the dig-site and the frantic battle in the sky. They had chased dashing beasts through the sky and seen Valkyries falling as they duelled. He had fought Eldar in another life but not like this. These Eldar had been a strange breed, yet no less deadly than their starfaring kin. Their primitive weapons had been effective and the race had lost none of its speed and agility. Reddam knew it was only the Imperial's discipline that had kept the battle from becoming a rout and the Thunderhawk's countercharge that had driven them back. Despite his youthful Brother's confidence, in his opinion it had been a damned close thing.

He frowned as his auspex blipped, a vague return that appeared and disappeared in moments. He reached for the controls and twiddled a dial, seeking a clear return but nothing came. Glord sounded curious as he asked, "Got something?"

"Not sure," Reddam replied, "Damn woods offend the Machine Spirits… wait."

The Auspex flared again, only briefly but he definitely saw something this time and said, "There it is."

"I get no reading," Joffell stated, "Are you sure."

Yet Reddam had already switched vox frequency and called, "Chapter Master Coluber, this is Reddam requesting permission to pursue a contact."

Coluber replied sternly, "Is this confirmed, we do not have limitless fuel to have you running endless patrols."

Reddam answered, "I saw something, my gut tells me there's something out there."

There was a moment's silence then Coluber said, "I trust your gut over any auspex, go check it out. I will alert the perimeter guards."

"Just tell them not to shoot at us," Reddam said as he switched back.

Glord asked, "Are we going then?"

Reddam confirmed, "Follow me, we're moving out."

He fed power into the engine and heard the roar as it built. Blasts of downdraft thundered out of the vector thrusters and slowly White Condor took off. He rose twenty metres into the air, followed by his wingmates then feathered the controls and pushed them forward. The Vulture slid through the air and the forest loomed up before them. He had one last glimpse of the guards looking up at him then they dove into the darkness under the canopy and headed towards the intermittent contact. He pulled the control stick left and right, steering around the towering columns of the trees as his eyes pierced the darkness seeking threats.

Glord was checking his targeting eyepiece and said, "Visibility is poor, I can't make out much."

"Keep looking," Reddam said, "We're not alone, I can smell it."

Glord chuckled, "Strange, when they taught us how to scout for enemies the instructors failed to mention smelling them."

Reddam ignored the remark as he probed the shadowy twilight under the canopy, broken only by the occasional ray of sunlight breaking through the canopy. It was hard to make out anything beyond a few metres, the gloom darkening into inky twilight. Even Astartes eyes were hard-pressed to make out anything and mortal eyes would have been nearly blind. His cockpit window glazed as a ray of the sun passed over it but he wavered not. His certainty that something was out here grew by the second, instincts honed by centuries spent at the sharp end of battle were screaming that danger lurked just out of range. He banked around another tree and peered into dark shadows sure that something was hiding out here.

Joffel voxed, "We're passing five kilometres from the dig-site, should we risk going much further?"

"Just around the next corner," Reddam voxed back.

One more tree loomed up before him, its knotted bark filling his vision. He curved the Vulture around it, only to be confronted by an oncoming tidal wave of flapping wings, coming right at him. Red and blue and white and silver and bronze, every colour imaginable were filling the air under the canopy. The leathery beasts all had bone-heads and sharp talons and on their back were pale riders, wielding bows and spears, all sailing towards the Amber Viper's base in one massive wave.

"Incoming!" Reddam yelled as he threw his Vulture to the side and thorn-tipped arrows flashed off its armour. A lurching sensation grabbed at his guts as inertia slammed him about all the while yelling, "Contact, contact, contact!"

A blue beast flew right at him and Reddam heaved back on the controls, pulling White Condor's nose up as Glord yelled, "Can't get an angle!"

"Fire anyway," Reddam snarled, "You'll hit something."

The Vulture's multi-lasers opened up, stabbing out into the dim underworld. The shots were random and poorly aimed but they flew into the oncoming horde, causing the Eldar to break formation and scatter. Flapping wings filled Reddam's vision and he drove into the heart of them, sending them flying away in a hundred directions. The Vulture piled through the heart of the cloud and Reddam heard spears and arrows pinging off the side of his craft. Such weapons should be pathetic in comparison to his own but they were steered by Eldar accuracy and a single bolt into his jet air-intake would send him crashing to the floor a half-kilometre below. Glord was firing constantly, filling the air with las-flashes and heavy bolter rounds as he cried, "There're hundreds of them, where are they coming from?!"

Over the vox Joffel shouted, "Didn't we beat them once already, we killed them all."

"Not all," Tebes countered, "Evidently we missed some."

Reddam snarled, "Speculate later, concentrate on the damned fight!"

Suddenly Kazao shouted, "Sergeant look out!"

Reddam's eyes widened as he saw a silver beast looming before him, its back bearing a glowing lascannon. He instinctively pushed his nose down, dropping White Condor like a stone. His stomach rose into his mouth and the ground swelled alarmingly, but the burst of energy passed over him without harm. The altimeter spun like a fan and he saw he would impact the ground in moments. He heaved back on the stick and shoved the throttle wide open, making the jet engine roar as it fought to arrest their fall. For a heart-stopping moment he thought they were going to crash, but then the thrust finally countered their fall, leaving them soaring a mere dozen metres from the tangled underbrush.

Reddam's vox squawked as Coluber called, "Reddam come in, repeat your last."

Reddam fought to bring the nose back up as he yelled, "Eldar, Frakking Eldar everywhere!"

"Confirmed," Coluber voxed, "Launching all gunships."

Reddam had no more time to talk as White Condor rose into the clouds of enemies, wings and beaks flapping everywhere. The world seemed filled with targets and Glord was firing constantly, trying to hit a darting foe. Reddam saw random firing was getting them nowhere and changed tactics, heaving his Vulture about and chasing after a fleeing red beast. The rider must have sensed them closing for the animal began to duck and weave but Reddam barrelled after it, closing the distance. A spray of heavy multilaser fire bracketed it, forcing it to fly straight for an instant then the heavy bolter spoke and the Eldar became a tangle of torn wings and blood.

"Take that Xenos filth!" Glord yelled.

"Keep it up," Reddam barked as he heaved about.

Everywhere he looked dashing beasts clashed with his squad, their numbers filling the skies with colour. The three Vultures fought on but they were only three against hundreds, unless help arrived soon they would be overwhelmed. He saw a Vulture hurtle past, moving so fast he couldn't make out who was flying it and its weapons blazed ceaselessly. He angled over its jetwash but in doing so failed to see a bronze beast rising towards him, its rider bending an immense bow to target him. He desperately wrenched his controls over but it was too late, for the Eldar fired a shaft right into his cockpit.

Glassic armour shattered and the world became a crazed mess of fractures as tiny shards peppered his face. Reddam blinked furiously as he tried to see what was happening then he focused and found an arrowhead mere inches from his eye. The bolt had punched through his cockpit window and become lodged in the frame, coming to rest just short of his face, two more inches and it would have come to rest inside his head. He had escaped death by a whisker but his vision was ruined, he couldn't see anything through the crazed glassic. Instantly he slammed his hand down on a control and explosive bolts fired around the rim, blowing the cockpit clean off. A hurricane slammed into his face, the speed of their passage making his eyes water but he was clear and free to see the treetop canopy rushing at him.

"Evade!" Glord cried and Reddam desperately wrenched the stick forward and tried to avoid a collision but leaves were torn free and blew into his face. Reddam wrestled with his Vulture, knowing a single branch into his intake would spell his doom but by a miracle nothing hit them. They levelled off, dropping slowly in height as Glord gasped, "That was too close."

Reddam wasn't listening for through the clawing wind he could see something else. Far below the swirling flights of beasts the forest floor was moving, undulating like a living thing. Reddam couldn't understand what he was seeing until his perspective shifted and he realised that he was looking at a huge wave of ground-dwelling beasts, all heading in the same direction. A kilometre below hundreds of animals, large and small, were charging towards the Amber Viper's position all of them bearing Eldar of some description.

Glord gasped, "Where the hell did they come from?"

"We underestimated the threat," Reddam exclaimed, "This planet teems with Eldar!"

"What do we do?" Glord cried.

Yet Reddam had already opened his vox and was shouting, "Come in Coluber. Beware ground forces are closing, you are about to be overrun!"


	55. Chapter 55

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 55**

Kerubim extended his gauntlet slowly, placing it on the trunk of a tree. It was barely higher than his head and less thick than his torso, a strange thing on this planet of kilometre high trees. Its bark was mottled and grey, withered and sickening. It was clinging to life by a thread and it was not alone. As far as the eye could see stunted, withered things slumped, their diseased branches covered in mould and grey fungi. The ground underfoot was dusty, like it had not rained here in a century and clouds of grit flew up with every step. No animals chittered here, no birds sang or insects buzzed. It was like the planet had rejected this location, excising it from the ecosystem, trying to cut it out like cancer.

"Keep moving," Battle-Captain Ferrac barked as he stomped past. Kerbuim frowned as a piece of bark came away in his hands and he shook his wrist to brush off the debris. The leader of this expedition was marching with his axe-rake and sledgehammer gun in hand, while the thrusters of his jet pack bled heat from the turbines. He was followed by ten assault marines of Excelsium squad, all holding their motley collection of arms ready for the first sign of danger. Kerubim stepped back from the tree and fell in, followed doggedly by Bane whose rotor cannons were sweeping the path ahead for threats. Through the broken trees could be seen a rising series of hills, a good vantage point to scry the land and locate their target. The Amber Vipers had marched from the dig-site to this location, seeing the forest growing sicker with every step. It was a troubling sign and Kerubim did not like the implications, there were only so many things that could cause such an effect, none of them good.

As he walked Kerubim lifted his auspex and swept it before him, adjusting the dials to narrow the scan frequency. As he expected the device began clicking rapidly, the Machine Spirit singing out a warning of toxicity in the atmosphere. Kerubim spent a second checking for clear areas but found nothing then called out, "Battle-Captain, I am detecting alarming levels of radiation and toxic build-ups in the ground soil. We are entering a contaminated area."

Ferrac's response was a curt, "Helms on, enact biological-attack protocols."

"Oh sacred Machine Spirit I beseech you to protect my flesh," Kerubim intoned as he fitted his helm, "May your mechanisms be girded against malfunction as my soul is against impurity." A rad-counter appeared in the corner of his vision and he hastily set his respirator to screen out toxic particles from the atmosphere. Power armour was a self-contained spacesuit, they could run on internal air but their supplies weren't limitless, they couldn't risk using up all their store should it be needed in extremis. Anyway Astartes physiology was robust and hardened against all manner of dangers, between their plate and their implanted organs contaminants should have no effect on them: in theory.

At his side Brother Vardat muttered, "Fang-rot, I hate bio-protocols."

Brother Kregulf retorted, "Better to be safe, at least in the short-term."

Vardat scoffed, "That's not the problem, I hate the decontamination rituals at the other end. Hours spent soaking in cleansing pools and scrubbing every inch of our skin off with wire brushes."

Another Brother named Holdas interjected, "It's that or contaminate all the mortals when we get back to the ship."

Vardat replied, "Easy for you to say, I've been working on a fine beard, I'll have to shave it off."

"Enough idle chatter," Ferrac barked, "Kerubim, any idea what's causing this?"

Kerubim deflected, "I am reluctant to speculate without factual evidence."

"Do it anyway," Ferrac snapped.

Kerubim drew in a breath and said, "The highest probability is radiation and chemical leakage coming from the lost ship."

Sergeant Excelsuim mused, "Perhaps a reactor breached?"

"The probability of that is low," Kerubim said, "The reactors have been sitting cold for twenty to thirty thousand years. The half-life of any known fuel elements would have rendered them inert by now. There is a possibility that the ship used an archeotech fuel source unknown to Imperial Science…"

"You don't sound convinced," Excelsium mused, "What else could it be?"

"Nothing good," Kerubim muttered.

Their conversation was cut off as the series of hills loomed before them, bare and denuded of trees. Their rising and falling crests made for a steep climb but Ferrac marched up the slope without pause. The squad followed, swiftly ascending the hill. Kerubim strode confidently up the loose grit, marching with his head held high, until a patch of scree gave way beneath his boot. He stumbled to the ground, slamming his palms into the dirt. Bane paused by his side, head cocking as it scanned for danger. Kerubim hastily pushed himself upright and felt a surge of embarrassment as he glanced to see if the others had noticed, but if they had seen they gave no sign. Kerubim brushed dirt from his gauntlets and hurried to catch up, taking a great deal more care where he put his feet this time.

In a few minutes they reached the top, about half-way along the line of hills and Kerubim surveyed the horizon, expecting to see the lost starship. To his surprise there was nothing, only the scraggly forest stretching away from the hills, the sickly trees spreading out for kilometres, until they reached the edge of the diseased area and once more became kilometre high giants. Kerubim was standing in the centre of a bowl of decayed vegetation, but of the starship there was no sign.

"Where is it?" Kerubim gasped.

Excelsium sounded equally baffled as he said, "We should be able to see it from here."

Kerubim mused, "Maybe we missed it."

Excelsium snapped, "How do you miss something as big as a starship? It should stick out like an Ork at an Opera house."

Kerubim picked up his auspex and fiddled with the dials muttering, "Definite energy readings, we're at the epicentre of the contamination. It has to be here but I can't see it, why can't I see it?"

Everybody examined the horizon but then Ferrac snorted loudly, "You can't see it because you fools are standing on it."

Kerubim blinked in shock and cast his gaze about. The hill he was standing on was sharp and came to a narrow peak, standing proud of the landscape. It took him a second to realise that there were no other hills nearby, no natural formations to explain this contouring of the land. It was unnatural, almost like the earth had been deliberately piled high to bury something. As his perspective shifted he saw clearly; they were standing on a mid-deck protrusion, approximately the place a Battle-barge would have its dorsal Bombardment cannons. Several kilometres in one direction a larger hill loomed over them, surely where the bridge would have been. In the other direction was a flatter hillock, where the bow should have terminated. Kerubim's knees went weak as the truth was revealed, the sheer scale of what he was seeing rendering him speechless. Perceptions of size in the void were deceptive, the distances and lack of reference points involved making enormous starships seem small. Yet on the ground they had a frame of reference and the true size of a starship was laid bare, it was humbling to behold, like being a fly on the back of a Captiol Imperialis.

"It's so big," Kerubim gasped lamely.

"Why is it buried?" Excelsium mused, "This can't be natural, maybe the Eldar tried to hide it."

"It doesn't matter," Ferrac admonished, "Spread out and find a way in, we have to seek out its mysteries. I shall contact the Chapter Master."

Ferrac opened the vox but before he could speak a harsh blurt of static roared forth, made distorted and broken by radiation-interference. Kerubim tried to discern words but all got was a blare of white noise as Ferrac yelled, "Repeat transmission, we did not receive your message."

Static washed over them, then it cleared for a moment and Coluber's voice came in, "Beware, we… …er… Eldar… ywhere. I say ag…ldar… attack our pos… They h …helming numbers!"

Kerubim started in surprise at hearing the Eldar had returned. Shock and confusion rose within the squad but they remained Astartes and all eyes snapped to the horizon, searching for threats. Kerubim saw a wave of disturbance washing through the diseased trees, their sickly branches thrashing as something came from the direction of the dig-site. Ferrac cried, "Squad form up and present arms!"

Instantly the Amber Vipers lined up, bolt pistols and melee weapons held in tight grips as they awaited the oncoming foe. Kerubim took up his bolt pistol and cog-toothed wrench as he saw they held the high ground but lacked for decent ranged weaponry, any fight would certainly come to melee combat. It seemed Ferrac agreed for he barked, "Amber Vipers, sound off."

One by one the squad reported, "Excelsium aye. Kregulf, aye. Mossir ready. Paneyr aye. Radfal aye. Vardat set. Seyda aye. Berio prepared. Holdas ready. Ultua aye. Kerubim and Bane, aye."

Ferrac lifted his axe-rake high and cried, "This is a blessed day for the Emperor has sent us a worthy foe. Cherish the coming fight and give thanks for this chance to spill Xenos blood in righteous combat. Here they come!"

The line of diseased trees, shivered madly and then the shadows exploded into bulky forms, a line of beasts running straight at them. First came a wave of two-legged animals, bounding forward with Eldar upon their backs, bearing lances like knights of proto-history. Behind them came larger beasts with great tusks, moving more slowly but each far more powerful. Then there was a sole beast in a massive shell, bringing up the rear but looking nearly impregnable in its thick plates. Kerubim had a moment to wonder how the Eldar had known they were here, before Ferrac shouted, "Fire!"

The bolt pistols barked sending mass-reactive round hurtling at the Eldar then Kerubim commanded, "Bane: attack!"

The Vorax's rotor cannons spun until they blurred then they let rip. A hammering beat of gunfire rung out, accompanied by searing tracers like whips of fire. The Eldar riders should have been blown apart by the fusillade but they moved with preternatural speeds, bounding left and right as they charged, dodging the salvo in a manner no human could ever have achieved. Bullets flew away into the air but they were many and the Eldar could not dodge every single one. One, two three riders fell in gory heaps and Ferrac cried, "More!"

Kerubim was shooting with his own bolt pistol; he fired half a clip at an Eldar but hit nothing save air. Hurriedly he switched to full-auto and emptied the clip and was rewarded with the sight of a painted rider falling, his shoulder blown off. Bane was sweeping the air with bullet-fire, scything the angles down. Alone the Vorax took down two more Eldar but the distance was shrinking and the aliens were bounding up the hill with astonishing speed.

Kerubim reached for a fresh clip but as he did so they reached melee range and slammed into the Amber Vipers in a thunderous charge. Kerubim threw himself aside as a glimmering lance thrust at him, missing by inches. The rider was a sneering Eldar, painted with woad and covered by leather armour. He spun his weapon about and tried to stab again but Kerubim darted in and slammed his wrench into the mount's leg. He had expected the beast to topple over with a shattered knee but to his shock the animal merely snarled and lashed out with a kick to his chest. His breastplate was torn by wicked talons, leaving long rents over his hearts and Kerubim staggered back, stunned by its strength. A moment later a maw filled with vicious teeth came at him and he was forced to duck, lest it take his head off. He swung his wrench upwards and managed to knock the head back but his blow was nothing more than irritating.

The Eldar stabbed once more with his lance and shrieked, "Filthy Mon-keigh, you die now!"

Kerubim's heart surged with hate at the condescending Xeno and cried, "Bane: Kill!"

The Vorax's rotor cannons were still firing into the packed mass but its top-mounted melta-gun immediately swung about and discharged, hitting the Eldar with a stream of sub-fusion fire. The Eldar was caught in the back and its flesh disintegrated, boiling to vapour in seconds. One second the alien was there, the next it was a cloud of steaming blood, leaving the animal it was riding with a huge hole blown out of its spine.

Kerubim exulted at seeing his enemy defeated but there was no time to celebrate for the battle yet raged. Everywhere Amber Vipers fought tooth and nail with mounted Eldar, hacking and stabbing with all their might. Here Ferrac swung his axe-rake at a snapping beast, tearing chunks out of its hide. There Brother Holdas died, speared through the hearts by a glimmering lance that punched through his spine and left him flopping helplessly as his lifeblood poured out. Beyond Sergeant Excelsium stabbed his trident into the flank of a beast, tearing its guts out while Brother Kregulf was kicked to the ground by a taloned foot. His life was saved by Ferrac who spun about and fired his gun at the rider; the kinetic round caught the Eldar and sent the alien flying, the corpse folding up as its spine shattered. Kregulf staggered back to his feet only to be set upon by another rider, left to defend himself from a frantic flurry of blows.

Kerubim saw the battle hung on a knife's edge, the Amber Vipers were barely holding back the mounted Eldar, then the second wave hit. A thunderous roar heralded the arrival of the larger beasts and they piled in, tusks and claws flashing as the riders let fly with arrows and spears. Kerubim's saw the odds turn inexorably against the Amber Vipers, but his only response was to grip his weapon tighter and snarl, "Bane: follow me in. If we're going down we're taking some of them with us!"


	56. Chapter 56

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 56**

The Mon-Keigh were frantic, the crowds of bestial invaders abandoning their digging and racing for their guns. Hastily lines of frail apes formed, taking up lasrifles and autoguns as they tried to rally. Heavy weapons teams were already in position, pointing heavy bolters and autocannons at the darkness under the trees. Sweaty hands gripped triggers and yellow uniforms were stained with piss as the fearful Mon-keigh searched for the first sign of attack. Among their number the warrior-caste stood proud, their weapons held in hands that did not shake with fear. Many of them wore half-plate and bore shotguns while the finest wore fully-enclosed armour and wielded weapons that promised to reap a terrible slaughter.

Elhyn could see their preparations as he circled around their camp and he judged their defence insufficient. The Mon-keigh were outnumbered and surrounded and their invasion of Athelling was about to be crushed. He was skimming just below the treetops but even from here he could smell them, the rancid sweat of alien bodies, the mixture of fear and perspiration laced with the oils and grease they caked their tools in. Everything about their presence was offensive, they had no right to be on this world and they would pay for the affront with their lives. A kilometre below the united Kinbands moved to encircle the Mon-keigh, they had broken past the perimeter guards and left a rearguard to tie up the twin-boomed flying machines. Now the attack would be unimpeded and victory would belong to the Eldar, but first they had to soften the target.

Elhyn raised Wrymfang high for all to see and shouted, "I shall lead the first wave!"

From her silver drake Celasia cried, "Go my son, open the way!"

Elhyn waved for his bravest kin to form up in his slipstream and Ilfavor croaked, "Strike, strike now."

Elhyn held on tight and said, "Go my friend, as fast as you can. Let our speed be blinding."

As one a hundred drakes beat their wings and then tucked them in, diving on a sharp angle towards the Mon-keigh. Their speed increased at an astonishing rate and the wind became a claw around his head, trying to tear him from his seating. Elhyn clung to his drake and held his spear tight as they dove, trusting in his partner to know when to pull up. A thousand metres became seven hundred, which became five hundred and still they dove. At two hundred Ilfavor's wings snapped out and Elhyn felt a crushing force slam into him as they pulled up, coming to soar a hundred metres above the ground and flying at tremendous speed. Elhyn's eyes watered from the wind stabbing into them but he saw a flash of light and then the drakes shot out over the camp, dashing over the heads of the foolish Mon-Keigh.

Weapons thundered as the invaders opened fire, filling the air with flashing light and tracers. The ground seemed to give birth to a volley of spears, trying to swat the Wind-dancers from the sky but the drake's speed was phenomenal and Mon-keigh eyesight was so poor they failed to lead their targets. The drakes were over the edge of their defence before the first shot was fired and they flew past the apish creatures, leaving them in bewilderment. Only the warrior-caste seemed to able to respond in time, their quick eyes sending screaming rounds exactly where they needed to be. Elhyn felt a buzzing bolt flash past his head, barely missing him, but half-dozen of his kin were not so fortunate. Drakes fell with chests blown out and riders toppled missing heads as the deadly accurate fire blasted them from the sky, causing Elhyn to curse the lives sacrificed on the altar of Mon-Keigh greed.

The first wave was inside the camp but they made no attempt to hurt the invaders, their role was not to injure the foe, but merely to draw their fire. Even as they flew past the shadows under the trees exploded with more Eldar, the encircling Kinbands attacking as one. First came bounding longstriders, their graceful gallop taking them from the depths of the forest into the Mon-keigh line in moments. The riders fell upon bewildered invaders, who were still trying to target the flying forms overhead and their lances bathed in blood as they struck home. The beast's claws lashed out left and right and their fanged maws snapped shut on yellow-uniforms, spilling blood freely. The Mon-keigh line reeled under the onslaught, but they retained their stubborn defiance. Heavy weapons swung about and gave voice to their fury, sending a devastating volley into the Eldar riders. Longstriders were struck most cruelly, their hides torn by weighty rounds and had there been more time they might have been cut down to the last soul. Sadly for the invaders time had run out.

Behind the Longstriders arose a deep rumbling growl and the thudding of heavy feet, then came the Leviatatus', followed more slowly by the Chellonians. The forest exploded with charging beasts, all muscled flanks and flashing tusks. The Mon-keigh frantically swung their guns about to face this new threat but their fire ricocheted off bony crests and they could not stop their doom coming. The Leviatatus' charge hit home and sent broken bodies flying. Tusks ripped chests apart and stomping feet shattered limbs, crushing the invaders on every front. Moments later lumbering mountains of flesh and carapace joined the fray, their thick shells deflecting anything that came their way. On the beast's backs riders sent out flurries of bowshots and lashing whips, adding to the tally of death.

The slaughter on the ground was terrible to behold, but the final blow had yet to fall. From the skies came the second wave of aerial beasts, the remaining Drakes, accompanied by the Kraken. The air became thick with wings, the flurries of attackers filling every inch of air. Drakes led the way, their darting forms raining bowshots while Kraken followed, their stately cruise over the battlefield leaving ruin in their wake. Mon-Keigh fell with arrows protruding through their necks and chests, while showers of rocks crushed heads, their feeble fur hats offering no protection at all.

Elhyn could see it all as he banked around, coming back over the battlefield. He could see the Mon-keigh camp falling into ruin and despair; he could see the victory of the Eldar at hand. Here a knot of resistance was smashed by a Leviatatus, running through the sandbagged emplacement and out the other side without even slowing down. There a fleeing Mon-keigh was cut down by a longstrider that came out of nowhere. A Kraken soared over the fray, five riders on its back picking off fleeing Mon-keigh with precise bowshots as it made its leisurely pass. A sandbag protected team of Mon-keigh swung an autocannon about to target a Leviatatus and their chugging weapon blew steaming chunks out of its side. The beast screamed in pain as rounds punched through its leathery hide but then a Chellonian lumbered into the path of the fire, its shell deflecting every shot. The invaders redoubled their efforts but they could not penetrate the inviolable shell and their efforts were ended a moment later as a team of Eldar riding upon its back fired a salvo of arrows that fell like rain and left the apes dead with shafts sticking out of their chests and throats.

Death was everywhere, advancing on all sides while overhead drakes rained down bowfire, including Celasia who had at last joined the fray, her Bright Lance blowing apart any resistance. Surrounded and dying in droves the Mon-keigh's courage broke, they turned and ran and the rout would have been completed save for the fact that the warrior-caste yet fought on. In the beating heart of battle the Amber-armoured figures stood proud, firing constantly into the fray. They alone were denying the Eldar advance, falling back to create a smaller circle of defence around the bulky, winged craft sitting in the middle of their encampment. Elhyn snarled at the sight, but could not intervene, Wrymfang lacked the reach to target figures upon the ground and their fire was too precise and deadly to risk approaching any nearer. Among their number a yelling warrior with a curved sword led the defence, his exhortations stoking his follower's courage. The warrior-caste alone were holding the line and breaking them open would cost the Eldar dear, but thankfully the Kinbands had brought something special to deal with them.

Elhyn saw the Dynast Olalath advancing, she rode her proud Chellonian into the fray and at her sides were two matching beasts. Three Chellonians, all armed with reaper missile launchers. Eldar attendants on their backs laboured over the weapons, swinging them about on fixed mounts to target the circle of warrior-caste. The Mon-keigh saw the danger and let loose a stream of flaring shots, punching Eldar from the back of the beasts but the Chellonians were proof against the bolts and then the surviving crew gave voice to their response. Streams of micro-missiles fell upon the ring of defiant warriors, blowing the ground apart under their feet and sending them into the air in pieces. Ceramite armour failed to hold and invaders fell in droves before the onslaught, leaving a gaping hole in their line.

The Kinbands cried in elation as they saw their chance to end this battle. The fight was about to become a slaughter and the Mon-Keigh's last defence was shattered. It was only a matter of time until every last invader was brought low. It seemed they knew it too for suddenly the survivors began to retreat, racing to the centre of the clearing where their flying machines began to rumble loudly. Frail apes dropped their weapons in a cowardly dash to reach the machines before they fled, running for their pathetic lives. Sadly despite their losses the armoured warrior-caste fell back in good order, firing constantly to hold back the last charge. Elhyn thought it was pointless but then he grimaced to see a four of them bringing flaming guns to bear. Streams of promethium flames ejected forth on each quadrant, burning the ground black and creating a moat of fire. The Eldar urged their beasts to vault the flames but the animals refused, no amount of cajoling could overcome their innate fear of fire. The beasts halted their advance and the Mon-Keigh fell back, they had bought a moment to effect a withdrawal and it seemed they might just get away.

Elhyn was still circling the battle as his anger rose, he felt powerless to intervene for he could not throw Wyrmfang at the ground without leaving himself unarmed but then he saw a way to fight back. The first grey machine was taking off, desperate Mon-keigh in yellow cloth still trying to pile into the open doors. The machine was moving slowly as it rose, fighting for height and speed. Elhyn immediately steered towards it, grinning at the prospect of a kill. The invaders saw him coming and a gun in the door swung towards him but Ilfavour dodged adroitly, evading the clumsy shots with ease. The machine had barely reached a hundred metres when Elhyn swept by, Wyrmfang lashing out in a dazzling sweep of green light. The machine's engines shattered under the blow, spilling black smoke and flame as he sped by. The hunched machine went into a mad spin as it plummeted, shrieking Mon-Keigh screaming for help until the machine crashed to the ground and exploded, blowing a cloud of turgid flames everywhere.

"Hoooo!" Elhyn cried in victory he saw the Mon-keigh's only avenue of retreat evaporate. The skies were filled with multi-hued wings, drakes and Krakens forming an impenetrable dome over the battle. Nothing could fly through that and hope to survive; the invader's flying machines had been rendered useless. Far below the moat of fire was flickering out and hundreds of beasts closed in on the last Mon-keigh defenders, longstriders, Leviatatus and Chellonians coming for the kill. The invaders of Athelling were surrounded, outnumbered and outgunned. They had no means of retreat and would not survive this final blow.

Elhyn cried in elation, "Witness their doom fall!"

From nearby Celasia responded, "Forward my kin, wipe the filth from our world!"

The Eldar forces bunched up and prepared their last charge, yet before they could finish the job another force intervened. Elhyn's was blinded as a flurry of light shot out of the Everforest, coming not from the ground but from above. Three drakes and a Kraken were caught by a surprise and fell in showers of blood, their lives cut short by a foe they had not seen. Elhyn's eyes snapped up and he blinked furiously to clear spots from his vision, only to be shocked when a flight of twin-boomed machines charged into the fray, their hunched-wings spewing vector-thrust as their guns fired ceaselessly. At their head was a machine without any covering, its glassic windows blown free.

Elhyn gasped as he saw the Mon-Keigh perimeter guards had somehow evaded the forces set against them, returning to the fray at the final moment. They charged into the swirling madness of the battle without pause, their guns lashing the air with constant streams of fire driving the Krakens and Drakes back despite being ridiculously outnumbered. The Kinbands reeled under the unexpected assault but Elhyn turned to meet them, taking Wyrmfang in hand as he growled, "No, it's too late. Your doom has come and none shall escape!"


	57. Chapter 57

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 57**

The wind tore into his face, pulling his lips back over his teeth. The noise was incredible, filling his world with a thunderous cacophony. Without the glassic canopy flying his Vulture was nearly impossible. The wind in his eyes tried to blot out his vision while the roar of the air mixed with the howling of the jet engine just behind his head and the barking of the guns made Reddam nearly deaf, yet he refused to admit he was beaten. Reddam was a Space Marine, even half-blind and deafened he would not leave the fight while his Chapter was in danger. His Brothers were down there and he would not leave them.

Before him the air was filled with flying Eldar. They were everywhere, soaring over the embattled Amber Vipers with contemptuous ease. Reddam was determined to knock that superiority out of them as White Condor dove into their midst, weapons firing constantly. At his side rode the other Vultures, his squad and the survivors of the others. They had been duelling Eldar skirmishers along the perimeter and lost several of their number. Only seven Vultures were returning to the fray, they could only trust it would be enough.

Glord was firing the guns ceaselessly and he had to yell over the howling wind, "They're everywhere, I can't miss!"

Reddam could barely hear him over the din, only his implanted Lyman's ear let him discern the words, and he shouted back, "Keep firing, give them every last shot we have!"

Before his charge the Eldar scattered, their swirling forms rushing to get out of his way. The multi-lasers were flashing constantly and the heavy bolter roared, mowing beasts from the sky. Their surprise charge had shifted the balance of the battle, but not by much. The Eldar were caught off guard but rallied quickly, turning from the beleaguered ground defenders to confront their airborne attackers. Arrows began crashing off the Vulture's flanks, gouging the metal badly. Reddam was all too aware a single shot to his unprotected form could kill him and he desperately jinked left and right, thrashing the control stick as his feet kicked at the rudders. White Condor lurched through the sky, stumbling like a drunk but the desperate evasion bought them through alive. Others were not so fortunate.

Reddam saw a Vulture set upon by an Eldar who was lobbing some form of projectile. They shattered against the hull like a grenade, spraying razor-sharp fragments over the nose, which were eagerly sucked into the air intake. The Vulture lurched as its engine exploded, spewing black smoke as its lifting power died and it went into a nose-dive. The pilot was seconds away from death but he made the price of his life dear, he steered his dying craft towards the packed ranks of Eldar on the ground, ploughing into their masses in a fiery explosion.

Reddam felt his anger growing to see noble Brothers dying to alien hands but that was only the start. Off to his left he saw Kazao and Joffel duelling with an Eldar on a blue animal, the Xenos wielding a glittering green spear. The Amber Vipers flew at it weapons blazing but the beast barrel-rolled past them and the spear struck out. Kazao's Vulture lurched in the air as one of its wings was sliced apart, it staggered pathetically, barely staying in the air as the Eldar came about for another pass.

"Target that scum!" Reddam roared as he swung White Condor around and he felt the heavy bolter shaking the aircraft with its fury. A hail of tracers surrounded the Eldar, each one promising instant death but the rider urged his beast to dive, evading the salvo and diving back into the fray. Reddam broke off pursuit as he saw Kazao's Vulture limping along and shouted into his vox mike, "Kazao, break off."

"We can still fight!" the vox-bead hissed in his ear, barely audible over the din.

"Don't be a fool," Reddam barked, "You're crippled and useless. Withdraw, that's an order!"

Kazao's Vulture obeyed instantly, swinging its nose towards the shadow under the forest canopy. It was fifty kilometres back to base and Reddam had no idea if they could make it, but he had no time to spare to watch them. Everywhere Eldar flyers beset the Imperial gunships, while the ground forces were pressing forward, trampling a ring of fading flames to crush the last resistance. To stand and die against impossible odds was the stuff of legends, but the Amber Vipers could not risk that. They had not the means to rise from the ashes, there would be none left to sing of their deaths or continue to build the Chapter. They had to get out of here or their saga ended this day. Reddam could see the valiant form of Coluber, trying to organise a withdrawal back to the transports but he had not enough time to get his Marines out. Reddam knew he could not risk turning his back on the aerial war lest he be shot down, but without aid Chapter would die in the mud. The choice was clear and he would make it a hundred times over.

"Incoming fire support, danger close!" Reddam yelled into the vox, unsure if anyone could hear him as he pushed his nose down. White Condor dove for the ground, exposing its rear to any attacker who could intervene. Reddam felt like target icons were painted all over his back and his skin itched but he pressed towards the Eldar beasts trampling towards the retreating defenders. Glord held fire as they dove; letting the range close and then when they were in the perfect position he fired. A booming roar heralded streams of rockets shooting forth from the pods under the wings, leaving trails of exhaust as they crashed down into the midst of the Eldar. Fire, light and death were gifted unto the aliens. Explosions walked up the line of animals, blasting bodies apart, spraying fire and death in their ranks and throwing broken animals to the ground in steaming heaps of gore. The explosions were perilously close to the defenders but Glord had aimed perfectly and smote only the Eldar, leaving the humans unharmed.

The attack faltered for a moment as Redam pulled out of his dive, G-forces crushing him as he tried to see what was happening. The Eldar attack had stalled, thrown back for a moment and buying time for the humans to race to their machines. Men and Astartes poured into Valkyries, their orderly dispositions cast aside in the rush. Then there was a howling growl as something bigger rose above them. It was the Thunderhawk Viper's Bite, packed to bursting with warriors as it lifted off. The heavy bolters were already firing as it rose, sweeping the skies with deadly accurate fire. Waves of Valkyries took off in its wake, far less than had arrived but enough to carry the survivors to safety. Door gunners blazed into the madness, trusting to the sheer weight of fire to compensate for their frantic aim. So the aircraft took off, surging through the flying morass of enemies as they dove into the shadows of the forest and left the burning digsite behind.

"Cover the withdrawal," Reddam voxed, still unsure if anyone could hear him. The retreating transports were surrounded as the Eldar tried to prevent their escape. Reddam threw himself after them, opening the throttle as they plunged into the darkness. The world shifted from light to dim gloom and he saw nothing but wings filling the air but they charged in regardless, their multi-lasers stabbing out over and over. A flying beast took a shot to the spine and dropped from sight but another dashed past, its rider sending an arrow at him. The shaft struck Reddam's seat and sent sparks into his face. His skin burned and he knew a fraction of a degree to the right and it would have skewered his head. He blinked furiously but pressed on, chasing the retreating transports as they fought off their pursuers. A larger beast with five riders was trying to put shafts into Viper's Bite's thrusters but Larus and Tebes were already moving to intervene, their multi-lasers and heavy bolter punching holes into its wings. Elsewhere human pilots tried to evade shots, while steering around trees. It was a mad melee of confusion and bedlam, human against alien and Reddam wasn't sure if the Amber Vipers could escape this trap.

That was when Reddam saw it, the same blue beast that had clipped Kazao and Joffel's Vulture, coming for him. It was diving from above, the rider holding aloft that strange glittering spear. Already the foe was on an attack run, committed to a dive that would bring the lethal spear into contact. Reddam had seen the effect of that spear and he knew if it made contact White Condor would be destroyed. His hands were already moving, reflexively jerking the Vulture over in a desperate evasion. The world spun as he dipped his wing and his stomach rose into his mouth as his altitude dropped, the sudden lack of downwards thrust grabbing the machine and dragging it from the sky. It was a bold manoeuvre, with the speed of Transhuman reflexes behind it and they almost made it.

As they rolled the Eldar swooped and the spear snaked out, catching the rim of the cockpit and slicing through. A flash of green light burst from the crystalline tip, a discharge of living power that no human could have understood, let alone wielded. The tip of the weapon sliced through metal and readouts and controls, then it cut through Reddam's bicep and stomach and out the other side of the cockpit.

"Arrrrgh!" Reddam screamed as a line of liquid fire cut diagonally through him, searing agony tearing his torso apart. It was pain unlike any other he had felt, clawing at his nerves and gnawing at his muscles, leaving needles buried into his joints. His whole body locked up in protest, unable to see or hear as his vision swan and his ears filled with thunder. This was impossible, Reddam was Astartes, pain should fire his anger and rage but this torment ate his strength like wildfire and left behind the cold ashes of weakness. Whatever magics the Xenos had bound within that weapon were potent enough to cripple a Space Marine.

"Reddam!" a faint voice shrieked, cutting through the torment, "Sergeant, wake up!"

"Gnnnagh," Reddam snarled in agony.

"Open your frakking eyes!" the voice yelled.

It was Glord, his voice penetrating the Sergeant's pain. Reddam forced his eyes open and realised White Condor was falling, plummeting towards the ground like a dropped stone. The engine was chugging behind his head but without direction it was creating no thrust. They were falling from the sky in a powerless tumble, the world blurring as it spun around them. He had no awareness of the larger battle, no sense if they had been left to die or were in the middle of the fight. The wind was a howling cacophony in his ears and his stomach was in his mouth, the sensation of falling uncontrollably overwhelming all other input, save for the pain which dug claws of fire into his nerves.

Reddam had seconds to avert a fatal crash but his chest was on fire and he could hardly feel his arms. The Eldar's spear had taken his strength from him and left him weak as a newborn. The thought of that lit a defiant spark within him, the idea of being laid low by a filthy Xeno being an affront to every fibre of his being. Righteous hate gripped his hearts and made his lip curl. Reddam refused to be beaten by an alien, he refused to fail. Driven by his anger his arm moved and slapped the control stick, it took every ounce of his willpower to close his hand around it but he forced his digits closed. His arm felt like jelly but he kept his hand shut and leaned back, drawing the stick to him. His chest burned as pain tried to prise his grip open but his will was steel and somehow he managed to keep the stick back. He had control but alas no power to the thrusters and in the second it had taken him to grab the stick they had tumbled ever closer to the ground. Reddam couldn't spare the attention to check the altimeter but they must be close for Glord yelled, "We're going to crash!"

Reddam flung his left arm for the throttle but it was a dead weight, numb and unfeeling. His nerveless hand flopped over the small handle, unable to close around it. He knew his life was measured in seconds and tried again but this time he missed entirely, banging his numb fingers on a panel. The pain seemed to be mocking him, jeering at his incompetence as Glord yelled, "Pull up, pull up!"

Reddam made one last desperate attempt to grab the throttle and this time his thumb caught under the control. Frantically he heaved forwards, pushing the engine to the limit and the jet answered with a roar. Blasts of vector thrust shot out of the wing tips, fighting the momentum of their fall and Reddam heaved back on the stick, struggling to get their nose up. Blessedly they slowed, losing speed as the jet wailed like a banshee. Reddam could feel nothing but pain, not even the G-force crushing him down compared to the agony in his flesh but still he thought they were going to make it. That was when the ground rose and attacked them.

White Condor was braking hard when it hit the forest floor. Belly first it slammed down into the packed earth, throwing up a cloud of mud and broken roots. Plumes of dirt were instantly sucked into the air-intake, clogging the jet engine with filth. The wings cracked along their width, breaking into useless pieces and the twin booms snapped, raining plasteel chunks from shattered spars. The craft had slowed just enough to avoid killing the crew but the force of the crash broke White Condor's bones, the Vulture would never fly again. Reddam however was aware of none of that, all he felt was a kick to the rear like the foot of a god up his arse, then a shower of mud and dirt fell upon him, burying him in the muck. Pain surged to new heights and it was too much for him. Reddam's mind collapsed under the strain. Wounded and in agony he passed out, dropping into the pit of unconsciousness and he knew no more.


	58. Chapter 58

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 58**

Ferrac's axe-rake snarled as it bit leathery flesh, chewing through the thick hide in a shower of arterial blood. The strike elicited a cry but it was more of anger than pain. The two-legged beast before him roared in outrage and swung a snout filled with sharp teeth at him. As if that wasn't enough the Eldar riding its back stabbed a long lance at his face, the crystal at its tip promising to carve through his plate and penetrate his flesh. Ferrac reacted with blinding speed, grabbing the tip behind its point with his free hand while dropping his left shoulder so the fangs merely tore across his pauldron. The foe seemed dumbfounded by the move and in their moment of hesitation Ferrac lunged in, swinging his weapon at the same spot he had hit before. This time the axe-rake caught, its spinning chainteeth scything through flesh and bone, in one sweep Ferrac dismembered the leg and the beast toppled in with a scream of pain. Instantly Ferra pounced upon the rider, stamping down to snap the Xenos' neck with his broad boot.

The Battle-Captain's chest heaved with exertion and his limbs burned. His plate was equally worn, its reactor pulsing heat across his back in a torrent. Ferrac had lost count of how many foes he had defeated this day but it didn't matter, the Eldar's numbers seemed endless. He glanced up and saw his Amber Vipers beset on all sides. Two-legged beasts with snapping jaws dashed to and fro, leaping upon Assault Marines from unexpected directions. Larger quadrupeds with ivory tusks tried to stomp them into the dirt with huge shelled animals lumbering along, their riders showering the Imperials with arrows. The warriors of Primus were fighting back, using all the savage might of the Adeptus Astartes. Hook-flails, energised tridents and serrated glaives drew alien blood and somewhere the hammering beat of rotor cannons announced that Kerubim and his robot were still fighting on. Ferrac had lost track of time, the battle could have been raging for seconds but to his addled senses it seemed like hours. Yet one thing was clear, the Amber Vipers were outnumbered and outgunned. Unless something changed they would all die upon this blasted hill of toxic earth.

Suddenly he saw one of the largest beasts charging at him, one of those huge shelled creatures. He could see its feet churning up the dirt, the weight of it leaving deep impressions on the ground. He could see the blunt head with gimlet eyes and the heavy layers of shell over its back. But most importantly he could see a team of Eldar riding on its back, swinging some form of missile launcher towards him. Ferrac neither knew nor cared where these feral primitives had got a Craftworld weapon but he knew its effects all too well, one shot from that could kill him. The riders screamed some alien war-cry as they set their sights upon him but Ferrac didn't wait for them to fire, instead he braced his legs and triggered his jump pack.

The turbines over his shoulders wailed for a half-second, then blew forth twin tails of rocket exhaust. Ferrac was wrenched off his feet, flung into the sky a heartbeat before the Eldar could fire. His brain was squeezed by immense forces and the world went grey as blood pooled in his legs, but his body was genhanced and his two hearts thundered, forcing his circulation to compensate. His leap took him high over the battle, arcing over in a steep curve that brought him down right on the creature's back.

Ferrac's boots slammed down with enough force to make the creature's knees buckle and his bones groaned with the impact of landing, yet it threw the Eldar into confusion and dismay. The woad painted Xenos were panicked by the unexpected flight and they reeled in shock, leaving them open to Ferrac's attack. The Battle-Captain swung his axe-rake and the spinning teeth sawed one warrior in half at the waist, then he reversed his swing and slammed the pointed spike on the other side into the back of a staggering Eldar. Two more Eldar came at him with short knives in hand, Ferrac met the first with a punch that shattered ribs and stove in the heart but the other leapt at him, sinking the knife into the exposed gap under his armpit. Ferrac snarled in anger as the knife bit deep but his free hand shot forth and grabbed the leather armour the Xenos wore and yanking it towards him. Simultaneously his head slammed forward, smashing his faceplate into the Eldar's face. Thin and brittle Eldar bone met hardened Ceramite, driven by Astartes muscles and it collapsed under the blow. Ferrac's face was sprayed with brain matter as the Xeno's head imploded, leaving him smeared with gore as the frail alien collapsed with a disgusting mush where its face had been.

Ferrac stepped back and shook his head, trying to clear his eye lenses. It took long moments to clear his vision, precious seconds of vulnerability. Ferrac's sight came back to him and he saw that his weakness had not been ignored, for one last Eldar had grasped the opportunity to swing the missile launcher about and point it right at him. Ferrac was looking down the barrel of a heavy weapon, dotted with tiny openings for micro-missiles. The Eldar grinned as he triggered the weapon, but even as he did so Ferrac's boot lashed out, kicking the barrel to one side just as it fired. A roar of discharge sang forth as streams of missiles shot away, arcing over the battlefield to crash into the rising slope of the hill. The Eldar gunner gaped comically at the sight but Ferrac's sledgehammer gun was already in hand and he fired a single round. The Xenos folded up as the round slammed into him, sending him flying backwards with a shattered spine.

Ferrac grinned at the sight but his triumph was short-lived. The beast under him quailed and shivered as its crew were slain, no it wasn't the animal, it was the ground itself that was shaking. Ferrac's eyes snapped to the hillside and he saw the errant shot of the missile launcher had disturbed the loosely packed earth. Dirt and sod were sliding over each other, pouring away in a mudslide. The dirt must have been a thin covering over the hull of the lost starship for thick metal was revealed beneath, a skin of armour sitting just under the layers of mud piled over it. The earthquake shook the combatants from their feet, Eldar and Space Marine alike staggering and for an instant the fighting paused as everybody stumbled.

At that moment Ferrac realised his vox was blaring and he heard a crackling voice coming in, "rrac can you… is Coluber. We are overr… no choice but to withdraw or the Amber Vipers die in this... vacuating immediately, we cannot spare anyone to..."

Ferrac shouted back, "We hear you, go now, save the Chapter nothing else matters!"

Coluber must have heard him for the vox crackled, "Stand fast my Broth… back for you."

Far away the echoing roar of distant engines heralded the Amber Viper's withdrawal but Ferrac paid that no mind. He was already leaping off his perch, hurling himself at the regrouping Eldar. His axe-rake snarled as it tore a two-legged mount apart and then he ducked under a tusked beast, disembolwing it with a ragged strike. He ran through the mad confusion of the melee, wrecking carnage with every step but the Eldar were many and they were recovering. Swift strikes started coming back at him, probing thrusts looking for a weakness in his plate. He fought them off, knocking aside lances and arrows and whips, he was being battered but holding off the swirling foes, yet others were so fortunate. Even as he watched Brother Mossir was knocked down by a charging beast, its tusks smashing through his breastplate to let thick blood flow down his legs. He fell under the nose of the beast and its crushing feet slammed down, ending the Amber Viper's life in a coffin made of mud.

Ferrac's sledgehammer gun was in his hand and he fired with a cry of righteous outrage, the fat round blowing the rider off the beast and sending him flying away. Furiously Ferrac fired into the melee again and again, intending to empty the clip. He killed an Eldar with every shot, his aim perfect and his kill tally mounting, right until his gun jammed on the last round. Ferrac was stunned by the abrupt machine growl of pain and in that instant another shelled-creature slammed into his back. Ferrac stumbled away, barely keeping his weapons in hand. He spun about to see the huge animal looming over him, its feet rising and the riders trying to target him from on high. He stared death in the face but raised his axe-rake, intending to make the cost of his life dear.

Yet as death descended a small round object curved over the top of the shell: a frag-grenade. A sharp crack announced its detonation and the crew were struck by scores of red-hot shards of shrapnel. The Eldar toppled off it in droves and the creature went mad, charging mindlessly away without direction or control. Ferrac jumped out of its path, reflexively striking out but seeing his axe-rake skitter off the shell without harm. The beast lumbered away and Ferrac saw Sergeant Excelsium running nearer his energised trident caked with blood.

Excelsium dashed up to the Battle-Captain and they slammed back to back as Ferrac yelled, "I had it handled!"

Excelsium replied, "Of course you did, I merely wanted the glory for myself. Bloody thing wouldn't die though, what the hell is that shell made of?"

Ferrac clamped his jammed gun to his thigh and lifted his axe-rake in readiness for the next foe as he growled, "This is it, let's show them how an Astartes dies."

Excelsium spat "What?! I'm not dying this day, the Chapter will come and save us."

Ferrac stated flatly, "They're not coming."

"They what?!" Excelsium cried in shock, "They abandoned us?!

Ferrac snapped, "They had no choice, the Chapter had to be saved. This is our death, and we shall make it glorious. We will hold this ground to the last drop of blood. It's not like we have anywhere to run to anyway."

Excelsium half-turned to look at him and retorted, "Battle-Captain… there's a whole rudding starship laying under our feet."

Ferrac's breath caught in his throat as the realisation hit him, then he opened his vox and cried, "Kerubim, are you still alive?!"

"Barely," Kerubim's voice came back.

Ferrac instantly ordered, "Do you see the crater, the one blown into the hill? Get there and open a way into the starship. We'll keep the Eldar busy while you work."

Kerubim replied, "I see it, but there's no hatch only a blank wall. I can't open a door that isn't there."

Ferrac snapped back, "Don't be dense boy, your robot has a melta-gun: make a door."

The vox snapped off as Ferrac threw himself into the fray shouting, "Fight Amber Vipers, let them see your fury!"

The world became a mad rush of hacking, stabbing weapons, coming at him from all directions. Ferrac strode into the melee with Excelsium at his side. He couldn't see Kerubim anywhere, he could only trust that the boy was working. All he could see were flashing fangs and wicked talons, arrows, tucks, spears, whips and massive feet. It was a mad whirligig of carnage, red and hot and angry and the Battle-Captain at last felt truly in his element. Ferrac slashed and hacked, he kicked and punched and stabbed, taking heavy blows to his plate but giving back twice as much in return. His armour was sprayed with blood, his proud colours covered in sick grime but he hesitated not for a moment, meeting death face to face and forcing it into submission through sheer defiance.

He knew not how long he did this for but suddenly his vox crackled, "Battle-Captain… it's done, we have a way in!"

Ferrac roared as loud as he could, "Take to the skies Brothers!"

From across the melee rose flaming contrails of exhaust as the battered Amber Vipers shot high. Their jump packs tearing them out of the swirling battle and sending them arcing overhead. Ferrac too shot upwards, his body feeling once more the tremendous pressures of the jump but he saw the Eldar left dumbfounded by the unexpected manoeuvre. The assault Marines arced high then fell upon the gaping crater in the hill, where a dark hole had been carved into the hull, its edges dripping molten metal. Kerubim was standing before the hole, his Vorax robot sweeping the nearest enemies with rotor cannon fire as he awaited his comrades. Ferrac's boots hit the earth and he saw others make heavy landings of their own. Brothers Excelsium, Kregulf, Berio, Paneyr, Radfal, Vardat and Seyda. Mossir and Holda were already dead but of Ultua there was no sign.

Ferrac had not seen him fall but a grey icon in his vision told him he had lost another Brother, the life-signs being non-existent. The Battle-Captain snarled in anger and his hearts burned with the desire for revenge but he held his anger in check. The Eldar were already rallying and coming about, one overwhelming charge to finish of the Space Marines once and for all. Ferrac judged they had no chance of beating that and ordered, "Get inside, go, go, go!"

The Amber Vipers piled into the hole, disappearing into the darkness beyond. Ferrac went last save for Kerubim and the robot, who fired one last burst. The Eldar were closing fast, trying to prevent their escape but as they stepped within Kerubim lobbed a grenade up high, arcing it to land above the hole. A second later a detonation shook the hill, bringing down more mud and sod. The ground rumbled as Ferrac hastily stepped deeper into the darkness, seeing a torrent of mud burying the opening.

After a long second the earth stopped moving, leaving the Amber Vipers in a world of darkness. Stablights flashed on as they examined their new surroundings, some nondescript corridor made of metal. Kerubim hastily spoke, "That will only hold them for a minute, we need to relocate fast."

"Follow me," Ferrac ordered, picking a direction at random and setting off.

The squad fell in behind him but Excelsium muttered, "We're lost and outnumbered, abandoned by our Brothers and left for dead. What are we to do?"

As he strode into the depths of the lost starship Ferrac declared, "We do what we always do: first we survive then we adapt, then we find a way to kill anything in our path."


	59. Chapter 59

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 59**

The sky was iridescent lilac and the ground yellow, gravity was constantly shifting and the air was mixed with toxic levels of methane. That wasn't right, he knew it to be true but for some reason he couldn't explain why. He was also clad in his power armour, the purple and gold embellishments stained by befouled mud. That also wasn't right either but it had to be, shouldn't it? His hands lacked for his spear, yet they bore his familiar bolter, the one he had used every day for decades. It was right, yet somehow Reddam knew it was also wrong and the contradiction baffled him.

"Reddam!" a voice yelled, "Get your head in the fight!" Reddam's eyes snapped up, the familiar icons of his autosense picking out another warrior in glorious purple armour.

"Jortas?" Reddam exclaimed in surprise, "But you're dead."

The other warrior looked at him oddly and said, "What are you talking about?"

Reddam shook his head and said, "I don't know…"

Jortas ducked as a rocket shot overhead, exploding nearby in the plume of fire and mud. In all directions lay endless tracks of mud, churned up by warring transhumans. Bolters fired constantly and battle-cries rang out, calls to challenge and condemnations in equal measure. Reddam's Brothers were beset on all sides, surrounded by zooming figures in stained white armour, who sped past on bikes that sprayed torrents of mud in their wake.

Jortas set off, hefting his bolter as he cried, "Come on, we have to move."

Reddam instinctively followed saying, "What's happening?"

Jortas fired a burst off as he shouted, "White Scar bastards have broken the left flank, Sergeant Ferrac is trying to lead a counter-attack but they're too damned fast."

"White Scars?" Reddam spluttered, "Weren't we fighting Eldar?"

Jortas resumed his run as he barked, "Eldar, were you hit in the head? Don't you remember, we came to Lorthal looking to raid an Imperial supply depot, only to be ambushed by White Scars."

Reddam pulled up short as his confused mind latched onto a word and he hissed, "Lorthal…"

Jortas stopped and spun around as he barked, "What are you doing!"

Reddam looked at his Brother and said, "Lorthal, I remember Lorthal. We can't be here, you can't be here and I know why."

Jortas angrily shouted, "Dorn's Blood it doesn't matter, we have to get into the damned fight."

Reddam stared at his friend and Brother and said, "You don't understand, Lorthal is where you died."

Jortas suddenly lurched as a spray of bolt rounds caught him in the back, shattering his powerplant and punching shrapnel into his spine. The world went dark and sounds became muffled as the Space Marine collapsed forwards, tumbling into Reddam's arms and he shouted, "Jortas, no! Don't die again, not when we were so close. You almost made it to Trux…"

"Sergeant," a different voice cut in, "Who are you talking to?" Reddam blinked in shock as the voice intruded, sending his head spinning. He didn't know where he was or what he was doing. Furiously he blinked over and over, seeing a different vista manifest before his eyes, each a blood-soaked warzone where good Brothers had died but on the fifth blink his eyes opened to Glord's concerned face. Reddam blinked again in surprise but this time the world stayed true. The kilometre high trees looming over him, framing Glord's head. It took Reddam an awfully long time to realise he was still on Athelling, apparently laying flat on his back, staring up at the sky. He was laying upon a bed of mulch and bracken and the wet smell of vegetation clung to him like mildew. His ears could hear the skittering of insects crawling over his lobes and he was sure some of them had snuck into his carapace plate, inching around under his fatigues.

Reddam's head was pounding and his breath caught like a rasp in his throat but he croaked, "What's happening?"

Glord cocked his head and said, "You tell me, you were dreaming and calling out for someone called Jortas."

"Jortas," Reddam groaned as his dream faded into mist, "He's none of your concern."

"I was only asking," Glord snorted impudently.

Reddam sighed, "It was the Time of Exodus, a time best forgotten. Jortas is dead, leave it at that."

"Well don't be too eager to join him," Glord replied, "I didn't drag you out of that Vulture wreckage only to let you die."

Reddam started as the memory of White Condor's crash came back to him, the terrible wounding he had suffered followed by a deadly plunge. He tried to sit up and look for the Vulture but knives of fire sank into his chest, eating him alive from the inside out. His limbs felt weak as they had not since his genforging, and he flopped back gasping for breath. He felt as helpless as a babe in arms, a situation he could not tolerate.

"Careful," Glord said, "Your wounds are still open, they won't close."

"That's not right," Reddam gasped, "Astartes can heal any injury, this shouldn't be happening."

Glord shrugged, "I don't know what that Xeno scum hit you with but it left something behind, some form of crystal shards embedded in the wound. I can see them but I can't get them out. I've bandaged you up as best I can but you're still oozing blood. You need an Apothecary."

Reddam focused all his willpower and managed to get his right arm to come up and touch his chest. He found his scout carapace was missing and his chest was covered in wadded bandages, they were damp and clingy, not good signs. Reddam knew the ability of an Astartes to heal was remarkable but far from infinite. If this wound was going to heal it should have done so already. The fact that he was still bleeding meant something had gone seriously wrong within him.

Reddam swallowed as his arm flopped to the damp soil and he said, "We can't stay by the gunship, the enemy is still out there."

"My thoughts exactly," Glord replied, "Which is why we didn't, I carried you for five kilometres before we set down."

"Five kilometres!" Reddam exclaimed, "How long was I out?"

"A few hours," Glord replied, "I would have got further but I had to keep stopping to hide from Eldar hunting parties."

Reddam frowned as he said, "Slow down and start at the beginning, what have I missed?"

Glord drew in a breath and said, "As I said, I dragged you out of the wreckage and carried you into the forest. I ripped out a transponder so we don't get lost, according to the Machine Spirit we're thirty-eight kilometres from the base. We aren't the only ones to crash, the Eldar brought down other gunships. The survivors were mortal huscarls, they tried to run but didn't get very far. Xenos prowls these woods in great number, seeking every last soul. We're being hunted; I had to travel a long way to find a spot they aren't probing… yet."

Reddam sighed, "Then I die in disgrace, helpless and unarmed. I can't fight like this, I don't even have my spear."

Unexpectedly Glord grinned as he said, "Oh didn't I mention, I grabbed that too. Thought it might be useful, good job you packed it."

Reddam's eyes went wide as he spied his familiar spear in Glord's grip, the shining power weapon unblemished save for the hatched out mark of a lightning bolt. Reddam's breath caught as the icon brought his dreams back to him, but he shoved the guilty impulse aside and said, "Well done, lets march out of here."

Glord frowned as he said, "Sergeant I don't think it's a good idea trying to stand right now."

But Reddam ignored him as he struggled upright. His chest heaved with exertion and knives of fire sank into his joints, trying to rob him of strength. Reddam quashed them with his iron will, forcing his limbs to obey him. Slowly his legs drew under him and he wobbled to all fours, his left arm was hanging uselessly but his pushed up with his right and managed to get his feet under him. He rose shakily, his legs blocks of ice and his head swimming but he was upright and standing.

"See," he said, "I can walk."

Glord cocked his head and said, "I don't think you'll get very far, you should let me carry you."

"Never," Reddam snarled, "If an Astartes can stand he can march, if he can march he can fight and if he can fight he can win. I will take on every Eldar in this forest with my bare hands before I admit defeat."

Glord didn't say anything in return; his only response was to reach out one hand and extend a single finger, then poke Reddam in the chest. The Sergeant instantly collapsed like a dropped sack of bricks, falling into the moist underbrush with a groan. Whatever strength had returned to him fled, leaving him utterly out of breath as he lay impotent. Glord loomed over him and mused, "I think that Eldar weapon really messed you up Sergeant."

"Thank you Brother," Reddam hissed in vexation, "Your grasp of the obvious is astounding. Why couldn't I have crashed with Tebes, he at least knows how to shut up."

Glord grinned as he said, "You can still jest, that's a good sign. Shrios will patch you right up when we get back to base."

"We both know that's not going to happen," Reddam said forlornly, "I am going to die here. What you're going to do is take my spear and go on without me. Leave me here and save yourself, that's an order."

The solemn order hung over the pair, a sentence of death laid upon the Sergeant. Glord heard the order but to the Sergeant's complete shock the young Amber Viper said, "No."

Reddam gasped, "What did you say?"

"I said no," Glord stated, "I'm not leaving you here to die alone."

"I gave you an order," Reddam snapped, "An Astartes must obey orders."

Glord sniffed, "Sorry, but you don't have any authority here. The Codex Astartes says a commander must be hale of mind and body, fit to lead his men at all times, or he must forfeit his authority to the next in the chain in command. Which in this case would be me."

Reddam spat, "Since when have you snakelets cared about the Codex?"

"When it said something I agreed with," Glord replied glibly.

Reddam snarled, "Fang-rot, this is no time for quibbling over doctrine. We aren't Ultramarines; the Amber Vipers must be pragmatists."

However Glord replied, "The Amber Vipers have no homeworld, no allies in the Forgeworlds or planets sending us recruits and supplies. No Fortress Monastery is churning out new initiates. But what we do have, the only thing we have, is each other. You taught us that Reddam: cold hearts, fast blades and unbreakable loyalty to each other. I won't break that bond, not now, not ever."

Reddam snapped back, "Damn it you idiot, I'm trying to save you. This enemy territory and you're being hunted. If you're slowed down by a wounded man you will never make it. Alone you might slip the net, but dragging my useless carcass along you haven't got a chance."

"Then that's how it will be," Glord replied, "Come on, daylight's fading fast."

Glord reached down and grabbed Reddam and heaved up like a sack of flour. He hefted the limp form of his Sergeant over his shoulder and took up the spear in the other hand then began to march through the forest. Reddam's head swayed from side to side and he felt like being sick with every step. His chest burned like fire and he had never felt more humiliated as he snapped, "This is not dignified!"

Glord replied through gritted teeth as he shifted the weight on his shoulder, "I… won't tell the squad then."

"Glord, see sense," Reddam urged, "It's forty kilometres of hostile territory and I am dead weight. You'll never make it."

"Thirty-eight kilometres," Glord replied cheerily, "Now do keep quiet or you'll draw every Eldar in this forest down on us."

Reddam bit down on his retort and quietly hissed, "When I get my strength back I'm going to call you out in the fighting arena and beat seven kinds of living hell out of your disobedient face."

"Good," Glord replied softly, "Something to look forward to."

Reddam finally relented and said, "Glord, I don't know if you're the bravest soul in creation or the biggest fool I've ever met… but thank you. You're a true Brother."

Glord snorted, "Don't thank me yet, we've still got dodge every Eldar in this forest."

As they walked into the shadows Reddam could only slump helplessly and wonder if they would make it. He was sure Glord would never relent in his quest but what he didn't say aloud was that he suspected there wouldn't be any base left by the time they got there. If by some miracle the Eldar didn't catch them then they may well arrive to find only a smoking ruin where their base had once stood.


	60. Chapter 60

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 60**

The Mon-keigh lurked in the underbrush, they were trying to go unseen but Elhyn could practically smell their filthy bodies. He crept forward, keeping low and his feet barely disturbed the underbrush as he advanced. The cold night air clung to his skin, beading his hair with moisture and making his breath steam but he shivered not. The Everforest was his ally and its touch aided him, as it impeded the invaders.

I felt strange to be walking on the ground, instead of soaring over it but the indignity had to be borne. The Mon-keigh had fled from the Eldar attack hours earlier but not all of them had made it. Transports had been cut from the air by dashing Wind-dancers and Kraken-riders, leaving a trail of wreckage all the way to the invaders base. There layers of waiting guns and missiles had repulsed the Eldar, breaking that place open would require the full force of the kinbands. Elhyn had fallen back before they lost more lives but he had been far from idle. Survivors of the ape's expedition were scattered through the Everforest, blindly blundering about in the hopes of reaching safety. Elhyn wasn't prepared to let that happen.

He heard a scuffling noise from the base of one of the great trees, a clumsy oaf trying to go unnoticed. The Mon-keigh must have thought to guard his back with the looming bulk of the trunk but the echoes of his movement meant all he had managed to do was highlight his position. To the sharp senses of the Eldar he might as well have lit a bonfire. Elhyn gripped Wrymfang tighter as he crept nearer; keeping so low wet fronds caressed his chest. Inch by inch he closed upon the sound and the scent of sweat and fear drifted over to him, tainted with blood.

Elhyn rose a fraction of a degree and spied a form laid back against the tree, a Mon-keigh in a soft yellow uniform, who gripped a gun in his hands and looked about with fear. His left leg was laid out before him, broken half-way along its length and it was from this blood seeped. The invader's eyes kept darting back and forth, quivering at every sound of the forest and its nocturnal predators. Elhyn was well aware of the dangers but it struck him that the Mon-Keigh was being paranoid, jumping at every rustle of the leaves. It took him a moment to remember how poor the ape's eyesight was, especially at night. An Eldar could see adequately in almost pitch darkness, they could hear a pin drop in a thunderstorm and walk a tightrope in a gale. Mon-keigh were not so blessed, half-blind, stupid and short-lived, the invader could not even make out his own hand before his face.

Elhyn felt a surge of vindication creep up him and he tensed, building power in his muscles. Then he struck. A single leap took him across the intervening distance and Wyrmfang's point flew forth to pierce the invader through the heart. The Mon-keigh never saw him coming; Elhyn's strike was so swift that the injured ape didn't even have time to fire off a single shot. Wyrmfang cut through bone and muscle as easily as it had metal and the Mon-keigh's life ended with a shot sigh. Elhyn should have felt a rush of triumph, he should have been exultant but inside he felt nothing, save contempt. These invaders didn't even make good prey.

The Eldar stepped back and drew Wrymfang upright as he examined the body. The Mon-kiegh was slumped over, its yellow uniform stained with blood and its hands cold and limp. It seemed pathetic, unworthy of the effort spent to end it. Yet it was beings such as this that had desecrated the Everforest and slain many Eldar. Strange that something so feeble could be such a threat, he was amazed it had even managed to drag itself this far on a broken leg. A cold shiver ran down Elhyn's spine as he realised that the Mon-keigh hadn't, there was no way it could have reached this point injured so, not without help. He cursed himself for a fool, its positioning wasn't random, it was deliberate. Someone else had pulled the Mon-keigh here and left it out in the open as bait.

Barely had the thought formed when the brushes next to Elhyn exploded upwards, revealing a warrior-caste alien buried beneath. The brute was wearing half-pate and was covered in a shawl that had blended in so well it had even fooled Elhyn's eagle eyes. It was missing one arm, the stump covered in thick clots of artificial sealant but the ape seemed no less powerful for it. The warrior-caste rose up with a savage cry of hate and a knife as thick as Elhyn's leg stabbed for his chest, seeking to end him. Elhyn reacted with all the speed of his race, swaying backwards to avoid the blow and swinging Wyrmfang around. One cut from that spear would end this fight but the warrior-caste was already inside the sweep of the weapon. A forearm slapped the spear aside and the knife struck again as it cried, "Death to the Xenos!"

Elhyn was forced to stumble backwards, reeling from the unexpected assault. He staggered away and tripped on a root, falling to his rear as the warrior-caste pounced. Elhyn gasped as he saw the knife descending, driven by genhanced muscles and steered by unthinking hatred. The death blow was about to fall, but then the warrior-caste brute froze, his whole body locking up. The cause of that was obvious, for suddenly a foot-long arrow was sticking through his neck, punching into his spine and out the other side. Elhyn blinked as the Mon-Keigh's corpse slowly toppled over, unable to even elicit a final death cry. Behind it was revealed the familiar form of Panthiro, slowly lowering his great bow with a look of disgust.

Elhyn breathed out in relief as he said, "That was close."

Panthiro strode over and angrily pulled his arrow out of the corpse as he spat, "That was foolish, you should know better than to go hunting alone. The ground isn't safe, even without the Mon-keigh scattered everywhere."

Elhyn got back to his feet and idly kicked the corpse of the Mon-keigh as he spat, "We can't let them get away."

Panthiro shook his head and said, "The Everforest is vast and they are scattered everywhere. Finding them all will take time. We have more important things to be doing."

"What could be more important than defending Athelling?" Elhyn asked.

"Honouring the dead!" a lighter voice interjected. From the shadows came the lithe forms of E'raye and M'sgith, their hands full of shining spirit stones. M'sgith held a red stone in her palm and stroked it gently as she sang a soft lullaby, easing the distress of the soul trapped within. Elhyn felt a surge of self-recrimination at the sight, for there were many such stones scattered through the Everforest. The invaders hadn't been alone in their losses, many Eldar had fallen in the battle and the essences of too many lay upon the ground. Helpless, lost and alone, waiting to be rescued and enjoined with the World Spirit.

Elhyn swallowed back his anger and asked, "Have we recovered them all?"

"No," E'raye sighed, "Our kin's life-forces lie in many places; we may never find them all."

M'sgith's head snapped up and she said, "We must, the souls must be taken to the scared glades to join the Song of Athelling. We cannot rest while one Eldar spirit lies in the mud."

Panthiro sighed, "Sadly it must wait, we are summoned to meet the Dynasts. Come Elhyn, we are already late."

Elhyn was in no mood to argue. He sent forth a psychic call and a moment later Ilfavor dropped from the midnight skies. The other Drakes followed him and they settled around their riders, accepting soothing hands that patted their long necks. Elhyn mounted up and saw the sisters stowing the spirit stones in secure pouches, then the Drake's beat their wings and leapt into the sky. The ground fell away and the air became sharp and cold as they steered through the darkness, gliding effortlessly around trees. Elhyn wasn't perturbed, his race were proof against a chill wind, as they were from most toxins and diseases, gifts of the ancestors to all branches of their progeny.

Their flight was short and swift, taking them to a ring of glowing torches, where the various Dynasts were holding court. They were surrounded by guards and their various mounts, but none spoke save the rulers of the kinbands. The Drakes settled down a short distance from the ring and Elhyn dismounted, leaving his comrades behind as he approached. He saw Celasia and Laegwen within the ring, heads held proudly as they addressed the others. Galahyn, Gonredil, Olalath and Dalsaar, all talking over each other.

Elhyn heard their argument as he closed and stepped within the ring, bowing to the Dynasts. Voices stilled as Celasia faced her son and said, "At last, where have you been?"

Elhyn straightened up and replied, "Hunting Mon-Keigh survivors."

Galahyn snorted, "Where we all should be, not standing about talking."

Gonredil replied sternly, "We must honour our dead and take our lost souls to their final rest."

Olalath snapped, "While the invaders yet draw breath? No, we must unite our forces and sweep the Everforest clean. Our ancestors can wait."

Celasia hissed at her, "You would scorn our own kin so?"

Olalath shrugged, "They're dead already, a few days won't make any difference to them. I will lead the search myself."

Galahyn barked, "Follow you? Never, I shall take my own forces and hunt down the invaders."

But Gonredil snapped, "We cannot be divided, we must have unity of purpose or we are doomed. If you two would bicker like children rather than honour or dead then I fear I must take up the reign of leadership myself."

Elhyn was surprised to hear the Dynasts arguing so, their ancient rivalries coming back to the fore now the fighting had died down. He realised then that they thought the war all but won, a notion he had to disabuse. He stepped forward and said, "Honoured Dynasts, I must council against any of these courses. The Mon-Keigh had retreated for now, but they will regroup and come back. They always come back. We must destroy the heart of their invasion: the base still standing. Only once it is levelled can we rest assured the threat has passed."

All eyes turned to him and Galahyn said, "Brave words, but who will lead the charge: you?"

Elhyn shrugged, "Does it matter, I care not for who yells, 'charge'."

Celasia sighed, "My son, I love you but from now on keep your opinions to yourself."

Gonredil snorted, "Only a youth would think matters were so simple."

Olalath agreed, "We united to drive the invaders out and we have done so, what follows next is the manoeuvring for advantage."

Elhyn sighed as he realised they weren't listening, too consumed by their ancient feuds, but to his surprise Dalsaar broke his silence to proclaim, "I agree with the boy, we must burn the Mon-Keigh base to the ground before they can rally."

Elhyn was stunned to hear his Kinband's most bitter foe agreeing with him and all fell silent in shock at the extraordinary declaration. Yet one other had yet to speak, it was Laegwen and she said, "None of you understands, my visions have not been thwarted. I see Athelling's doom clearer than ever. The Mon-keigh have breached the wards surrounding the Vale of Midnight Tears and entered the forbidden ship. Even now they crawl through its depths, seeking that will destroy us all. We cannot allow this to happen."

"Is this true?!" Celasia snapped, "Some of them got in?"

Olalath replied without concern, "Yes, it is not important. Let them crawl about in there till they die of hunger, we need not concern ourselves."

Galahyn snapped, "Of course it's important, the warnings all agree that ship must remain sealed. We must chase them down and kill them immediately!"

Gonredil concurred, "I fear not ancient curses but I know danger when it hangs over my head, I will send my kin into those depths to hunt these Mon-keigh down."

Celasia added, "Let us not forget the survivors scattered through our lands, we must eradicate them all."

Heads nodded in agreement but Dalsaar argued, "What of the base?"

"It can wait," Galahyn uttered, "Let us not argue anymore but act!"

"Yes," Gonredil agreed, "On this we agree, the battle is not yet done. I cannot mourn my dead while a fight yet wages."

Olalath concurred, "One battle at a time."

Dalsaar finally relented and said, "It seems I am outnumbered. Very well, first we kill the foe still in our lands, then the ones squatting on our borders."

Celasia concluded by saying, "Those of us who can fly will take our forces and hunt down the survivors of the Mon-keigh. Those committed to the ground must enter the Vale of Midnight Tears. Elhyn, take what forces you need and watch the base, but take no action without us. Is that clear?"

Elhyn bowed to his mother but inside he was worried they were making a mistake. Whatever else he was certain letting the Mon-keigh plot and scheme was a blunder they would come to regret. He could only hope the Eldar killed the scattered survivors quickly enough to make a difference. His only comfort was the knowledge that the fates of those Mon-keigh was already sealed.


	61. Chapter 61

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 61**

The harsh glare of stablights penetrated the darkness, the pencil-thin beams illuminating a cavernous hall. Kerubim swept his light back and forth, examining the space in detail. The darkness was cloying and thick and the air heavy with the weight of ages and dust that had been undisturbed for thousands upon thousands of years. Oxygen was marginal and his armour's rad-counter clicked in his ear but it was nothing a Space Marine couldn't handle. Before him was a nave like structure, lined with rising pews on either side. The far wall held an inert Hololithic projector, which was flanked by four decorative arches set against the back wall.

Kerubim judged they had found their goal and said, "If I'm right this should be the secondary bridge."

The Amber Vipers followed him in and Battle-Captain Ferrac growled, "It had better be."

The warriors all looked battered by their fight but they retained a fierce pride. Their heads were held high and weapons held ready. They had suffered pain and loss but survived in the face of impossible odds. Since then they had wandered the depths of the lost ship, searching for anything they could use. Their chronometers told them it had been a day and a night and Kerubim had not been idle, he had slowly begun to piece together the layout of this ship and discerned it was not too contrary from STC designs, in form if not in function. He had seen many things in the depths, many wonders he couldn't understand, but sadly all smashed to ruin. What mysteries might this ship have once carried, what secrets could it have revealed. Sadly, he would never know.

The squad marched up the length of the bridge, dogged by Bane whose cannons swept left and right. Kerubim was glad of the Vorax's presence; his faithful companion had fought hard and slain many Eldar. Sadly the toll had reduced its ammunition stores to thirty percent, but Kerubim didn't begrudge the expenditure of so many bullets. He was certain they would all have been killed without the Vorax's fire support.

He was distracted as Brother Kregulf proclaimed, "I've found something." Kerubim hurried over and saw him examining a console in the pews, one that had lit up at his touch.

"Battery power!" Kerubim exclaimed as he jumped into the aisle and pushed Kregulf aside, "Omnissiah be praised. Whatever the builders used as a storage medium for the Motive Force must have incredible longevity."

"Never mind that," Ferrac snapped, "Can it tell us anything?"

Kerubim examined a glowing runepad and was relieved to see it was a standard STC design, unchanged since mankind first voyaged into the stars. He pressed what should be an awakening rune and was rewarded by nearby hum. Set in a low cage nearby a bulky cogitator slowly stirred, humming loudly as it awoke from millennia of slumber. Kerubim looked for the sacred incense burner, to anoint the Machine Spirits, but was distressed when he saw no such item existed. In fact there were no signs of the Cult Mechanicus, no purity seals, no devotional shrines and no holy prayers inscribed on the walls. To one trained in the Imperial sciences that was disturbing.

Kerubim was distracted as the console lit up with letters and he said, "I've got it… I… wait… what's this gibberish?"

Sergeant Excelsium closed in enquiring, "Problem?"

"Oh, of course," Kerubim mused, "Proto-Gothic, the ancient root tongue of both High and Low Gothic."

"Proto-Gothic," Ferrac spat, "Can you read it?"

Kerubim peered at it and explained, "This language hasn't been spoken aloud in twenty thousand years, but parts of it still inform the Lingua Technis. I can make out something here, its the ship's name and registry. This ship is called the Apophis, a sister ship to the Spartak."

"Spartak class?" Excelsium pondered, "Never heard of it."

"Forget that," Ferrac snapped, "Can it provide anything useful, auspex, vox, internal schematics, anything to give us an edge over the Eldar."

"A working macrocannon would be nice," Excelsium added.

Kerubim bent down and began tapping runes. The language barrier was formidable so it was easier to work in Binaric. He saw a wealth of files laid out before him, some regarding the functions of the ship's workings, others data-archives and crew logs, star-charts and technical readouts. His mouth went dry as he saw the possibility there could be STC patterns held within the cogitator, that alone made all the bloodshed worthwhile, but that would have to wait for later. He focussed on the ship's functions but was stymied by the language barrier, without a clearer grasp of the syntax he was a caveman trying to operate an orbital shuttle.

Kerubim decided to change his approach and hastily constructed a cypher, a translation matrix to smooth the work. It was the work of a few minutes to enter the ritual data-incantations but then a tinny female voice issued from above calling, "Language assimilation complete: updating user interface. Warning, warning, critical damage detected: primary systems are off-line, reactors are non-functional, Soulbound is not responding. Emergency protocols are in effect."

Kerubim looked up in wonder and exclaimed, "The Machine Spirit awakens, Praise the Omnissiah!"

Heads lifted but their wonder was cut short as the voice uttered, "Unknown presence detected in auxiliary control centre. State your security clearance immediately or be deemed hostile."

Weapons raised as Excelsium growled, "That doesn't sound good."

Kerubim cried, "Blessed Machine, look not upon these humble questors with anger, we seek only enlightenment!"

Yet the voice only uttered, "Your security clearance is invalid. All hands: intruder alert, intruder alert. No response from ship's officers, activating autonomous defence units: Cadmus protocols are authorised."

There was a harsh squeal of noise and all eyes darted to the far end of the bridge, where the four arches were shaking dirt from their surfaces. Rusty growls hissed from every edge and three of them clunked and whirred in a tangled snarl of broken machinery, yet the fourth drew back to reveal a chamber beyond. Hidden behind the arch was a looming form, twice the height of a Space Marine. It was a mechanical humanoid, somewhat similar to a Castellan robot of the Legio Cybernetica but bigger and more menacing. Within a thick layer of armour strange devices whirred and growled, making the air vibrate with hostility. Its wide-sprayed feet gripped the cold deck with claws as big as a man's torso and its arms ended with bulky fists while clamped to the backs of its forearms were two looming cannons. It had rounded pauldrons over its shoulders and a sensor-dome head with many eye lenses was protected by a looming cowl of armour.

Everybody drew back as it took a lurching step forward, moving away from its bulk as hostile red eye lenses glinted in the gloomy darkness. Kerubim was amazed, a working battle-automaton from the Dark Age of Technology was right in front of him, a wonder made manifest. It was a holy artefact of the Machine God, a fragment of divine knowledge. Yet his professional eye noted it was in a poor state. Its movements were awkward and jerky, the joints filled with the debris of millennia neglect. It was dragging one leg behind it, like it was lame and all the lights on the right side of its head were dark and cold. Its original colours were indistinguishable, buried under a layer of mould and its fists did not crackle with energy as they must surely be meant to. For a moment Kerubim thought it was non-viable, but then its right arm came up and a red blast of ravaging power shot out of its cannon.

"Scatter!" Ferrac shouted an instant before it fired, and Kerubim threw himself out of the way as the blast tore into the pews. A brilliant explosion lit up the room as the pews melted, solid metal running like water before the intensity of the detonation. Kerubim gasped, for the shot had chewed through matter like plasma weaponry, yet his rad-counter screamed in alarm, wailing that the blast had unleashed a shower of radioactive particles.

A low growl announced the cannon recharging as Ferrac shouted, "Suppressing fire!" The Assault Marines darted up out of cover and fired their pistols, sending mass-reactive rounds to ping off the automaton's hide. Unfortunately the thick armour was impervious to their light fire and the robot slowly lifted its left arm to point at them. A loud whine arose but to Kerubim's surprise nothing happened, no blast of power shot forth to attack them, no searing ball of radioactive energy. He half-rose from his position and cried, "It's not working!"

A second later Excelsium slammed into him, throwing them both aside as the robot fired. Another blast blazed into the pews, chewing metal apart as Excelsium snarled, "Stay down you idiot." Kerubim was horrified to realise the robot had been faking its disability, pretending to be impotent to lure him out of cover. It was a shocking display of intelligence, far more than any doctrine of the Machine Cult would permit and he grasped that this automaton had a mind of its own.

The robot came about to face him directly, raising both arms in readiness to fire and Kerubim knew one direct hit would melt his armour to slag. Yet before it could fire a spray of bullets pinged off its hide, rotor cannon fire falling like hail. Kerubim's head snapped about and he saw Bane charging forth, pounding forward with its melta-gun swinging about. Kerubim' hearts soared and he knew the weapon could penetrate that thick hide, but alas it seemed the robot knew it too. The automaton took a lumbering step forward and swung its arms upwards, catching Bane with a vicious uppercut that sent it flying away. Bane hit the deck and squealed in distress as it fought to get its feet back under it, leaving the automaton unharmed. The Vorax's attack had failed, yet it had bought a moment of distraction.

"Charge!" Ferrac roared and as one the squad rose up and ran for all they were worth. Kerubim was with them and he saw the Astartes pile in, surrounding the robot on all sides. Chain glaives roared, energised tridents hacked at plates and knives were shoved into joints as they sought a weak spot. The robot roared mechanically and swung wide but this was the Amber Viper's element and they dodged its clumsy blows with ease. Kerubim bunched up and jumped as high as he was able, grabbing onto its back and clinging on as it thrashed about. He saw an opening in the armour plates, time exposing a weak spot, and plunged his hand inside, feeling complex circuitry within. He gripped a handful of components and pulled hard, ripping out arcane sub-molecular processors and quantum relays in a shower of sparks.

Abrupt silence fell as the robot went still, its movements grinding to halt like a puppet with its strings cut. Kerubim held on for long seconds, unsure as to whether it was faking. Normally Kerubim would have considered that notion laughable but today he was not so sure, the Cadmus automaton had displayed an eerie intelligence and he had a dark suspicion the machine mind within was of an order no Sanctioned Tech-Priest of the Cult Mechanicus would have ordained. Thankfully the machine's cunning did not extend this far and with a thud the internal mechanisms ground to a halt, going silent as their direction was cut off.

Finally Kerubim let go and dropped to the deck to look about. The bridge was wrecked, shattered consoles and broken cabling hanging from the roof, it looked like a battlefield and the rad-count caused his autosenses to click furiously. The other Amber Vipers stood dumbfounded, unsure if the robot was really dead. Kerubim was heartened to see none had fallen, though he knew that owed far more to the automaton's dilapidated condition than their skill.

Unexpectedly Battle-Captain Ferrac slapped him on the shoulder proclaiming, "It's dead. Well done boy, I knew you had it in you."

Sergeant Excelsium snorted, "High praise indeed, the Captain must like you. I think you've made a friend for life."

Kerubim bowed his head in acceptance but a moment later saw Bane limping nearer, the Vorax hunched over like a kicked mastiff. The hunter-killer had been humbled by the battering it had received and limped to its master, head bowed. Kerubim reached out and patted it affectionately saying, "When we shall return to the workshop I shall soothe your aliments with the proper rituals."

Meanwhile Brother Kregulf idly tapped one of the bulky cannons built into the robot's arms saying, "I've never seen the like, what are these?"

Kerubim half-turned and said, "Some form of plasma weapon."

Kregulf muttered, "It was dirty stuff, my rad-counter is deafening."

"STC plasma weapons utilise fusion power," Kerubim mused, "I suppose this could be fission based instead."

Excelsium cocked his head and said, "It's a fission-blaster."

Kerubim blinked in surprise and asked, "You've seen these before?"

"No, he hasn't," Ferrac snorted, "He just made up the name."

The Battle-Captain stepped away from the robot and started walking towards the door but Kerubim called, "Captain wait, look!" From the inert Hololithic projector a soft glow was starting to emerge, while the bulky cogitator was humming loudly and Kerubim had no idea what mystery it was churning out of its eldritch depths this time. A wavering form was starting to emerge in the beam, a human outline and all weapons pointed at it as Ferrac snarled, "What fresh devilry is this?"

Kerubim however looked at one of the few surviving consoles and said, "I don't think it's another attack, its some form of recording."

Slowly the image of a human appeared in hololithic form, a mortal man in a soft grey tunic and trousers. He was utterly unremarkable, plain-faced with thinning hair and stubble upon his chin. Yet his eyes held great sadness and he looked harried, like he was recording in great haste. His lips were moving and fuzzy words blared from a tinny speaker, yet they did not match. Kerubim realised the man was speaking his native language and the cogitator was still translating for their benefit. The recording finished then started again and Kerubim moved to a console, pressing a few runes to clear up the audio feed.

Slowly the voice clear, hashed by static and untranslatable phrases but this time they could make out some of his words, "This is the last log of Captain Pic… mander of the proud ship Apophis. Our counter-offensive… end this bitter war has failed… ambushed as we entered the Mournful Abyss. We have been boarded by Rangdan Cerabvores, we destroyed many waves of claw-craft but … my ship's Soulbound projects we cannot hold... Our payload… wipe their nest clean but now it will fall into their claws… that happen, I won't allow it… nearby planet, trusting that the impact will kill them along with us… is uninhabited or our payload will surely make it so. I commend my officers for their unflinching dedication and… Log is found you must take an urgent message to the Hegemony, tell Star Command they have underestimated the Rangdan, they are building… and find Captain Veronic, tell her she was right. Humanity should never have… Halo Stars were not meant for mankind. This is Captain P…"

The message looped around again and Excelsium spat, "That's it? Useless Grox-fondler, if he weren't dead already I would kill him for wasting our time."

Kerubim too was disappointed, he had hoped for more but Ferrac surprised them all by saying, "He's given us everything."

Kerubim frowned as he asked, "What do you mean?"

Ferrac sounded eager as he uttered, "The legends were wrong, this is no colony ship, no meek passenger liner, this vessel is a ship-killer and world burner."

Excelsium sounded lost as he asked, "How does that help us?"

Ferrac explained, "This is a warship and warships have weapons. Follow me Amber Vipers; we're going to unearth this ship's secrets, no matter what it takes."


	62. Chapter 62

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 62**

The lilac sky was burning, stained by plumes of smoke and ash. Explosions shook the ground and showers of mud rose high. Flashing white forms raced past, their bikes churning the ground to mush as bolters and missiles roared overhead. Power armoured bodies lay strewn upon the ground but it was noticeable that there were more purple ones than white. If something didn't change soon then Lorthal would be the end of their tale.

Reddam knew he was dreaming again, the understanding that his deranged mind had drifted off again was deep within him but still the events played out in his mind once more. Reddam was standing over the body of Jortas, firing his bolter into the clouds of smoke. His autosenses picked out hostile forms in the murk and he fired repeatedly, trying to keep them at bay. He emptied his magazine and reached for another as he shouted, "Hurry up!"

Behind him Apothecary Shrios was kneeling in the mud, harvesting Jortas' gene-seed as he snapped, "I'm going as fast as I can!"

Reddam slotted the magazine in and fired again as he yelled, "I can't keep them off us for much longer."

Shrios' Narthecium clunked as it shot a pneumatic bolt into the corpse, extracting the second precious Progenoid and he cried, "Done!"

"Come on!" Reddam yelled as he set off, moving away from the nearest blur of white. Together the pair ran across the battlefield, mud spraying their greaves and staining their proud armour. Reddam felt the dishonour to its spirit, doubly so since the colour was just about the only thing unblemished about it. Like all his kin he had lost his Chapter, his home and his place in the Imperium, his pride was the only thing left to him. Seeing his fellows beset on all sides by the mythical warriors of Chogoris only drove home how impoverished they were.

Reddam saw a brilliant explosion rise high, made blue by the toxic levels of methane in the atmosphere and he snarled, "If we don't get out of here fast it will be the end of the Soul Drinkers."

Shrios snapped off a shot from his bolt pistol and replied, "We should never have come to the Lorthal in the first place."

Reddam tracked a shape in the muck with his bolter but it moved away into obscurity as he stated, "This is insane, we are loyal to the Throne. The White Scars are loyal to Terra, we should not be fighting each other."

Shrios snorted, "Try telling them that, they think the Soul Drinkers are Traitor Marines, nothing we can say will change their minds. It's them or us and I choose…"

"Get down!" Reddam shouted as something came at them from out of the swirling smoke. It was a warrior on a bike, hurtling forward at tremendous speed. His armour was bedecked in glorious raiment, chased with gold and icons denoting his many victories and triumphs. He was a warrior-poet with flowing poetic script inscribed on his white colours. His bike flew a flapping pennant behind it and a horsehair plume arose from his helm. Yet what drew Reddam's eye was the magnificent power spear in his hand, shining with lightning and swinging for Shrios' head. The Apothecary turned to look but was too slow to avoid the coming blow; he would have died were it not for Reddam's hand on his shoulder, shoving him out the way.

The spearpoint flashed an inch from the Apothecary's head as he was sent sprawling into the mud. Reddam however was caught by the corner of the bike and the impact sent him skidding away like he had been hit by a freight train. The White Scar roared past as Reddam hit the mud and rolled over, his breath had been knocked from him but he had kept his grip on his bolter and with transhuman reflexes he fired a burst at the retreating form. His aim was low and missed the rider entirely, but one errant bolt clipped the back tire and exploded it, blasting the rear wheel to pieces.

"Ha!" Reddam yelled as the bike skidded out of control, crashing into the mud and tipping the rider into the filth. He pushed himself back to his feet, desperate to get an advantage but the White Scar was faster than imagination. He rose from the crash and leapt at Reddam, his spear point jabbing for the head. There was no formal challenge, no exchange of threats, the White Scar simply threw himself into the fray without hesitation. Reddam desperately backpedalled but too slowly to avoid the spear, which flashed down and neatly sliced his bolter in two.

Reddam couldn't believe his eyes, his noble weapon was lost but his reflexes were already in motion. As the White Scar spun his weapon about Reddam barrelled into him, smashing bodily into the Chogorian and knocking them both off their feet. They slammed down in a bear hug, elbows and fists smashing into each other. There was no nobility in this, no graceful ballet, it was a no-holds barred slugfest such as might play out in a hive city's slums. The White Scar was a warrior-poet, born in the saddle but he hadn't risen to be an Astartes without knowing how to fight and his punches and kicks were powerful and relentless. Reddam felt the blows slamming into his side and helm but rather than return them in kind he focussed on rolling over, pushing them both through the filthy mud and coming to rest on top. His hand flashed to his hip and came up holding his combat knife, he lifted it high and then…

Reddam started as a surge of emotion jolted him from his slumber, forcing him back to wakefulness. He found himself slung over Glord's shoulder, bouncing to and fro as the Amber Viper marched. The forest was alive with the chirps and squeaks of small animals and the occasional hiss of something larger. Shafts of sunlight penetrated the canopy a kilometre above their heads, columns of illumination casting golden pillars into the gloom. It had been dark when Reddam had last opened his eyes and he groaned as he realised he'd been asleep for hours.

Glord paused as the Sergeant awoke and paused in his march. He bent over and lowered the Marine to the bracken, saying, "You're awake."

Reddam let out a dry rasp and found his throat was on fire, he was forced to swallow several times before he could croak out, "Water…"

Glord shook his head and said, "Sorry, none to be had. Now, hold still I need to look at your wound."

Reddam was too weak to protest as Glord knelt and inspected his chest and left arm. The pain of the wound was still in him, robbing him of strength and his torso was swaddled in damp bandages. Reddam knew his wounds were severe, his inability to move was a testament to that and unless something changed he wouldn't live long enough to make it back to base.

Glord rocked back on his feet and said, "Still bleeding, this has to be changed or you'll die of blood loss."

It hurt to talk but Reddam croaked, "We used them all last night."

Glord was silent for a long moment and he took on a distant expression as he mused, "I… might have an idea. Stay here."

He took the spear in hand as he stood and walked back the way they had come. Reddam could do nothing but lay there, unable to move in the slightest. Never in his life had he felt so weak and helpless, he was cold and numb all over he couldn't even summon enough energy to be angry. Was this how mortals felt all the time, he wondered, if so it explained a lot about them. All he could do was lay in the damp underbrush, listening to the noises of the forest. He didn't doubt that Glord would return, the youth was too stubborn to do otherwise, but he didn't see what the Marine could possibly do. Minutes crawled by, each one an eternity unto itself. The rays of sunlight slowly moved through the forest, as the sun above shifted position and Reddam was concerned one might illuminate his position. Yet he knew it hardly mattered, the Eldar were legendarily aware of their surroundings, if the Xenos found them there wouldn't be much they could do about it.

A crunch nearby made him start but it was only Glord, coming back with a hefty knapsack draped over one arm and the other carrying his spear. Reddam noticed a slick of fresh blood staining the blade and he instantly guessed where Glord had taken the supplies from, by the looks of it forcefully. Glord knelt in the underbrush and pulled out a canteen stamped with an Imperial Aquila and handed it over. Reddam took it with his good arm and carefully sipped, it was only water but it felt like golden ambrosia on his tongue. Meanwhile Glord took out some bandages and surgical pads and began changing Reddam's wounds.

Reddam watched his Brother working and slowly said, "Are we safe here?"

Glord kept working as he said, "Safe as anywhere else, there's no place the Eldar can't go, this is as good a spot as any."

Reddam asked, "How much further to base?"

Glord replied, "A long way, the Eldar are everywhere, while you were out I saw them running down Huscarls. Those few survivors aren't going to get very far, they're wounded and weak and…"

Glord fell into bitter silence and Reddam sighed, "That can't have been easy."

Glord muttered, "I don't want to talk about it."

Reddam sipped his canteen again then asked, "The Huscarl you got these off… did he put up a fight?"

Glord sighed, "Worse, he begged. He was dying and he knew it but he refused to pass with dignity. I offered him the Emperor's Peace but he was weak and cowardly at the end."

Reddam affirmed, "We are trained for the red heat of combat, the hack and thrust of the melee. It is easy to feel the rage and the hate in the moment, they drive us to feats of greatness, but in the cold night it can be harder. Guilt, it has ways of creeping in when you're not looking."

Glord worked on the wounds as he said, "Is that why you were talking about the Soul Drinkers?"

Reddam went very quiet at the pronouncement and he wondered what he had let slip in his delirium. What secrets had he spilled in his dreams. Very cautious he said, "You shouldn't know that name."

Glord nodded, "Yes, we guessed that."

"We?" Reddam hissed.

"Yes we," Glord replied, "The First and Second generations Amber Vipers, a few of us at least. We know more than the Old Seventeen guess."

Reddam's eyes narrowed as he probed, "What do you think you know?"

Glord shrugged, "You're not as smart as you think you are. A word here, a whisper there, a few relics that have no business existing. Your reluctance to talk about your spear, it's not modesty, its shame. You're ashamed of how you got it. Tell me the truth, the Old Seventeen didn't spring out of nothing, did you?"

Reddam very quietly said, "We encountered the Soul Drinkers during the Time of Exodus. They were traitors and renegades, they deserve to be forgotten."

Glord snorted, "Very convincing Sergeant, I almost believe it."

Reddam swallowed as he said, "Glord… you should be very careful with your next words."

"Don't worry," Glord chuckled, "We don't care about the past, it's the future that concerns us."

"Really?" Reddam inquired in surprise.

"Oh yes," Glord said, "I think that's the big difference between our generations. We don't share your shame, we are happy to be who we are."

"Is that why you're always cheerful?" Reddam asked.

Glord nodded, "Joffel wants glory, Kazao craves acceptance and Tebes loves to brood. Me, I am right where I want to be, doing what I want to be doing. I get to fight for the Emperor and unlike most Astartes in Chapters I don't have to flagellant myself every day. What's there to be miserable about?"

Reddam sighed, "I can't remember a time I thought that way. Duty and responsibility weigh down on me."

"You're stuck in the past," Glord mused, "Let the past die, the Amber Vipers look to the future."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing," Reddam said, "We haven't done much to be proud of, Chapter Master Coluber is trying to make us a true and honourable Brotherhood but we fall short."

Glord shook his head and said, "Yes, that's why he's so unpopular. Battle-Captain Ferrac, now there a soul who should be leading the Chapter. He sees the glory and goes for it. Everybody thinks he should be in charge."

"I wouldn't say that where he can hear you," Reddam replied.

Glord shrugged, "Coluber can't live forever, every Astartes is fated to die in battle. Someone will have to be the second Chapter Master."

Reddam sighed, "That is a dark thought."

"Too dark," Glord said, "We have enough on our plate for today. I've finished this, we need to keep moving."

With that Glord tied up the bandages and packed the sack up. He lifted Reddam over his shoulder. Then they set off again. Reddam resigned himself to another day of being jostled about but inside he was confused. The Amber Vipers had tried to put their past behind them but it seemed they hadn't been as discrete as they thought. Deep within he wondered how much Glord knew and how many others had guessed their dark secret. They had come to Athelling to secure their future but could it be their past would drag them down regardless. One thing was certain though; if they didn't make it back to base there would be no future for either of them.


	63. Chapter 63

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 63**

The depths of the starship Apophis rang with the patter of light feet, echoed by the crump of larger hooves. Fleet Eldar raced through the bowels of the wreck, riding two-legged mounts or larger quadrupeds. They moved with the speed and surety of their race, flowing through the transepts and thoroughfares of the broken vessel. Their weapons were ready, deceptively primitive but potent enough to end a Space Marine if used with skill. Hundreds of them poured into the ship sweeping with the skill and cunning of lifelong hunters. Yet a starship was an immense place, with the internal dimensions of a city and sweeping such a volume would take a great deal of time.

Ferrac stepped back from a balcony overlooking a transept, as woad painted Eldar flowed along the passageway below. He moved cautiously, trying to go unnoticed as he retreated. He walked back into the darkness of the ship, without stablights, as he fled pursuit. Beside him Excelsium was walking with his trident in hand and he muttered, "They've come looking for us."

Ferrac replied gruffly, "It was inevitable, but they haven't found us yet."

Excelsium asked thoughtfully, "Do we fight or withdraw?"

Ferrac sighed, "Withdraw, we can't fight those numbers, not yet. I have a grand total of one round left in my gun and my axe-rake. We're outnumbered and outgunned. We need to find an advantage."

As they walked into a series of twisting passageways Excelsium looked around and mused, "Speaking of advantages, do you think this ship is salvageable?"

"This wreck?!" Ferrrac scoffed, "Not a chance. It's smashed to ruin, broken in ways we can't describe. Thirty thousand years in the mud have reduced half the systems to rubble and the rest we can't even name, let alone repair. Every Tech-Priest of Mars combined couldn't get this ship to fly."

"Shame," Excelsium muttered, "It would have been grand to lead the Chapter from such a vessel."

It was true, Ferrac thought, the Apophis had been prodigiously powerful once. The vessel must have surpassed the mightiest of Battleships in its prime, a Dreadnought unseen since the Great Crusade, or possibly even then. Sadly it was a smashed ruin, twisted and broken in ways beyond repair, yet there must still be something useful in its depths. Ferrac had broken up the squad into pairs, sending them out to scour the ruin. He knew it increased their chances of running into the Eldar but time was against them, without an advantage they were finished.

Suddenly Excelsium stiffened and said, "This way."

Ferrac frowned as the Sergeant stepped into a non-descript corridor, only to pull up short when he found the Amber Vipers waiting for him. The survivors of the assault squad, all idling like schoolboys. "What's this?" Ferrac barked, "You're supposed to be searching the ship."

Excelsium, turned to face him and said, "We need to talk."

Ferrac looked about and hissed, "Where's Kerubim?"

Brother Kregulf answered, "This isn't for his ears, there's no telling where his loyalties lay."

Ferrac reached up and ripped his helm off as he snarled, "You better explain that remark!"

"Patience," Excelsium said as he removed his own helm, "We need to talk to you about the future of this Chapter."

Ferrac's lip curled as he said, "You want to talk about this now?!"

Excelsium replied, "What better time to show you the truth. Look at us, forsaken in the dark, left to rot by our Master. Good Brothers died on the surface and we were forced to leave them behind, we can't even perform the Rite of the Dead. We have been abandoned, betrayed and scorned by our own kin. For what? Another of Coluber's inglorious missions, scrambling in the dust for scraps."

Kregulf added, "We're sick of these sordid missions, of being held back from true glory. We want a leader who understands the hearts of Astartes, a Chapter Master who leads us to glory."

Ferrac's eyes narrowed dangerously as he said, "You speak sedition and self-aggrandisement."

However Excelsium replied, "No, we don't seek power for ourselves. Coluber is a distant and uncaring lord, he grubs in the dirt when he should be leading us to glory. We want you to take up the leadership of the Amber Vipers. When we get out of here you must call him out in the fighting arena and prove your superiority. The Amber Vipers desire Chapter Master Ferrac."

Ferrac's anger rose as he snarled, "Coluber is the Chapter Master, he is our sworn leader. The Amber Vipers have nothing save brotherhood, if we doubt our leader we are done for."

To his surprise Brother Vardat spoke out, "Ferrac's right, Coluber is our master. I said this was a bad idea."

"So," Ferrac hissed, "You're not even united in your own ranks. Who else stands for Coluber?"

Brothers Kregulf, Berio, Radfal and Paneyr were shamefully silent, but Brother Sedya stepped to Vardat's side and said, "I stand for Coluber."

Excelsium shook his pale head at the defiance and said, "Don't be stubborn fools, we are offering you everything."

Ferrac however snarled, "And what fate do you intend for Coluber?"

Excelsium sniffed dismissively, "Death."

Ferrac's hand fell to his axe-rake and he triggered the motor as he snarled, "Nobody threatens the master of the Amber Vipers while I draw breath: not even you."

Excelsium saw the move and triggered his trident as he said, "Don't…"

But Ferrac was already in motion, hurling himself at the Sergeant as he roared, "Traitor!"

Ferrac's anger burned hot and he swung his axe-rake wildly, aiming for the hearts. Excelsium was surprised by the sudden attack but he reacted with Transhuman skill, swinging his trident about to block. Ferrac snarled as his weapon was deflected but he redoubled his efforts, attacking again and again but Excelsium backed up, deflecting with consummate skill. The others stood dumbfounded as they duelled, unwilling to intervene in the challenge. Ferrac chased the Sergeant pace for pace, outraged at the sedition this scum had embraced. Ferrac had seen one life reduced to ashes by filthy Heretics and he was disgusted to learn that the Amber Vipers were anything other than unflinchingly loyal, it was an offence that could only produce bloodshed. His vision narrowed and his arms burned with rage as he sought to end the Traitor's life but Excelsium had earned his rank through skill and was the Battle-Captain's match.

Ferrac swung wide but Excelsium's boot came up and kicked him in the midriff, forcing him to stagger backwards. The Sergeant swung his trident about and pointed the energised prongs at his foe as he barked, "Stop this madness, we're trying to help you, we're trying to make you Chapter Master!"

Ferrac's armour was blazing hot across his back as he spat, "Filthy scum, I won't stand for Heretics in my Chapter!"

Excelsium's exposed face crinkled in scorn as he spat, "So be it!"

Ferrac's anger boiled over and he leapt at Excelsium, his weapon swinging high. The Sergeant had been expecting this and thrust his trident, catching the Battle-Captain in the left side of his torso. Ceramite shattered under the blow, flesh and carapace and bone parting to let forth a gush of hot blood. Ferrac felt the wound pierce him deeply but his rage drove him, pushing through the searing agony to smash his axe-rake downwards. The Sergeant managed to evade having his head split open but the chainteeth scored over his pauldron, ripping away the icon of the snake and goblet. In return Excelsium smashed his trident's butt into Ferrac's wounded side, sending spikes of torment into his chest.

Ferrac tried to grapple with the Sergeant but Excelsium leaned into the blow and shoulder barged him away, gaining room to bring his trident about. Ferrac was the stronger of the pair but Excelsium was the faster and he knew how to use it. The trident came at the Battle-Captain again and he was forced to dodge lest his hearts be pierced. He staggered sideways, blood running down his side and tried to bring his axe-rake to bear. Yet before he could regain his balance, Excelsium's weapon came at him, points then butt then shaft, knocking him over onto his back.

Quick as a flash Excelsium was on him, holding his trident behind its head and pointing it at Ferrac's throat as he snarled, "Bloody fool, we offer you everything and you reject it. We would have followed you into the gates of perdition itself!"

Ferrac looked up into his former Brother's face and saw only a filthy Heretic. He wanted to shout deprecations, to utter dire threats but knew it was useless, there was nothing more to be said. So instead he convulsed his jaw and activated his Betcher's Gland, then he spat a stream of acid into Excelsium's face.

The Sergeant screamed as the corrosive saliva chewed his skin off. He dropped his weapon and flung both hands to his eyes as he lurched upwards. Instantly Ferrac surged up, fists flying as he tackled the reeling Sergeant. Fists and elbows and headbutts, smashing into his foe relentlessly. His hearts burned with anger, his fists were piledrivers powered by wroth and as he battered his rival down he screamed, "Raaaaagh!"

The Sergeant collapsed under the onslaught, going limp as Ferrac rose to his feet. Excelsium's struggles grew weaker as he slumped to the floor, barely conscious as the skin on his face sizzled with acid burns. Ferrac stepped back, chest heaving with exertion from the fight. His wounded side was weeping blood and his armour burnt his back from the overtaxing of the power cell. He was battered and bleeding but he was victorious. His head snapped around to take in the rest of the squad, who stood dumbfounded, and he snarled, "Anyone else?"

Heads shook denial as the squad submitted to his will, none of them willing to challenge the Battle-Captain. Ferrac turned away in disgust and faced the fallen Sergeant. Excelsium was dazed and beaten but his genhanced body was already starting to piece itself back together. Excelsium raised his burnt head and groaned, "I… I yield."

"Get on your feet," Ferrac sneered in contempt.

Excelsium labouredly wobbled to his feet, staggering from his beating and said, "You win, I shall not challenge you again."

Ferrac's lip curled as he growled, "You have broken faith with the Chapter and forsaken our Brotherhood. Did we not teach you that the only thing we have is each other? The bonds that bind us are what holds this Chapter together, you threw that aside."

Excelsium's voice was low as he whispered, "I shall atone, I shall pay whatever penance you desire."

Yet Ferrac sneered, "Chaplains may speak of penance and atonement but we have no such niceties. We are the Amber Vipers and there is only one punishment for Traitors."

Excelsium's eyes went wide and his jaw fell but he was too slow to act as Ferrac grabbed his gun and lifted it to point at his face. There was a single moment of stunned disbelief and then Ferrac pulled the trigger and fired his one remaining round into Excelsium's skull. The fat round crossed the distance in an instant and struck the Sergeant square in the face. Excelsium's head folded up around the projectile, contorting inwards as the round passed through his skull and blew his brains over the wall. The shot echoed loudly in the passageway as Excelsium collapsed in a heap, missing his head.

Utter silence reigned as everybody looked upon the corpse with slack-jawed incredulity. The Battle-Captain had just executed the errant sergeant, none of them could believe it, none of them had expected him to act so. Kregulf was the first to speak, "You... you killed him."

"You're damned lucky I don't do the same to you," Ferrac hissed, "I need you alive to fight the Eldar but make no mistake, this is the fate of traitors. Speak sedition again and I will kill you all."

Brother Vardat spoke softly, "Why did you make him stand up?"

Ferrac replied candidly, "I didn't want to risk damaging his armour further, it's worth more than he was. Vardat, you stood for the Chapter Master, henceforth you are Sergeant and keep a tighter eye on your squad than that scum did. Sedya you remained true, you will be his second, if the others let slip one word of complaint you are under my direct orders to kill them."

Vardat looked up in surprise at his promotion and asked, "Shall we perform the Rite of the Dead?"

"If you must," Ferrac muttered, "Don't bother with the gene-seed, that Traitor deserves no legacy. You four, stay where you are."

As Vardat and Sedya moved to collect memorial items from the corpse Ferrac faced the others and growled, "Kregulf, Berio, Paneyr and Radfel, you have covered yourselves in shame. You will not die this day but do not think for one second that you are forgiven. You have walked the path of treachery and embraced sedition, that will not be forgotten. I will deal with you later, but so you don't forget this you will need a reminder."

Ferrac pressed his gauntlet to his wounded side and dipped his hand in the wet blood. It was clotting fast but his gauntlet was dipped in blood when he pulled it back. He stepped up to Kregulf and smacked his open palm on the faceplate, leaving behind an imprint of a bloody hand. He repeated this with the others then stepped back and saw each of them marked out. Ferrc spat, "You are marked for censure. How severe will depend on how hard you fight in the coming days."

The four hung their heads in shame, knowing that they had lost the Brotherhood of their comrades. Meanwhile the other two had collected their memorials, Vardat claiming the trident for himself. Ferrac glared at the lot of them, disgusted with their acts. He was saved from further berating them by the hiss of his vox, it was Kerubim the one Amber Viper not present and he squawked, "Come in, can anybody hear me?"

Ferrac turned his eyes from the squad and said, "Ferrac here, what is it?"

Kerubim replied excitedly, "I've found something, come and see. You all have to see this!"

"Acknowledged," Ferrac replied, "Hold position, we're en-route."

The vox snapped off and Ferrac glared at the squad who hastily fell in behind him. The Battle-Captain set off at a quick march, leading the wayward squad away from the scene of the execution. Behind them Excelsium's corpse was left alone in the dark, abandoned to rot in disgrace. For him the fight was over and his name would never again be spoken with respect or admiration. For the rest, their fates remained to be decided.


	64. Chapter 64

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 64**

Kerubim lurked in the darkness, standing utterly still with his armour operating at its lowest ebb. Bane hunched nearby, the robot's power cells depowered and its weapons inert. The pair of them stood still and silent in a narrow conduit, lined with reinforced pipes, lurking under a mesh grill floor and trying not to make any noise at all. The reason for this was the scores of Eldar passing mere inches above their heads. The hunters were walking quickly but Kerubim still tried not to breathe too loudly, he knew how keen Eldar senses were and the slightest hint of noise would give them away.

The Amber Vipers had split up to search the lost starship, the others disappearing to leave him alone in the dark. The young Marine had been exploring the ruined interior of the Apophis, looking for something useful, when he had detected the hunters on his trail. He had no idea if they had caught his scent but he knew he was in no condition to fight them, not yet. His only option had been to duck into a narrow conduit and hide, a galling offence to his warrior pride but the Amber Vipers taught pragmatism above all so he swallowed the affront and hid. That the Eldar would eventually find the Amber Vipers was certain but the question was how long it would take, in a city-sized starship the Space Marines could avoid contact for days. The Eldar were dressed in primitive leathers and adorned with feathers and beads, they seemed so crude yet he knew they were supremely skilled hunters. In their home environment they would certainly have spotted him but Kerubim was gambling the enclosed metal of the ship would be unfamiliar to them, that they would be disorientated and confused by the broken passages and endless pipes. If he was wrong then he was a dead man.

An eternity crawled by as he lurked in silence, then at last the Eldar vanished, running off into the darkness without saying a word. Kerubim held his position for another few minutes, wary of a trap. It took a long time to convince him they were really gone but at last he was satisfied they hadn't seen him and urged his armour to awaken. Power surged into his limbs as the plate growled loudly and a moment later Bane responded, coming back to full alert. Kerubim didn't risk climbing out of the conduit but instead headed along the narrow gap between pipes. The air was stale and dry, sealed for millennia and undisturbed since the crash. He hastily moved down the space until he found a hatch and ducked through. He emerged into a wider transept, a high-roofed corridor which was totally deserted. His thin stablight revealed various hatches three times his height lining the route, doorways into cargo holds denoting this passageway held basic supplies and victuals. Kerubim had seen a dozen such hallways already and he duly noted the location on the growing map within his armour logs.

Kerubim had been excited at first, seeing undisturbed holds full of supplies, but sadly his investigations had produced nothing of import. Mummified foodstuffs, uniforms, unremarkable parts that could have been lifted from any starship manufactured in the 41st millennium. Once he had found withered bodies, humans in some form of carapace armour and a multi-limbed Xenos of a genotype he had never seen before, all reduced to dusty bones by the passage of time. It was thoroughly disappointing, nothing worthy of the supreme power this ship must once have boasted. Kerubim guessed any truly rare items would be buried deeper within the heart of the ship, but he had only penetrated a fraction of the volume contained within.

He was tempted to leave but sadly a proper reconnaissance was needed, yet with the Eldar in the area he determined to hurry. Kerubim hurriedly proceeded down the transept, passing open doors. He strode past a hold filled with stacked plasteel boxes, and judged them more worthless junk. A hundred paces later he passed another and hundred paces after that another, then another. As he moved past the holds his disappointment grew, there was nothing here that could help the Amber Vipers, surely anything important wouldn't be left in the open like this. Kerubim had almost reached the end of the transept and was about to abandon the area when he realised Bane had frozen still, standing between two holds like it had slipped a gear. Kerubim cursed to himself as he turned around and hissed, "Bane: follow." The Vorax refused to move, bobbing its head back and forth. Kerubim had no time for this foolishness and angrily turned on his heel to stride back, intending to grab the Vorax and haul it out of there. Yet as he stepped nearer he suddenly noted Bane's foot pawing at the floor and it reminded him of how the Vorax had uncovered a threat at their base when they had first arrived. Kerubim slowed to a halt and surveyed the area. All seemed well but there was something off, something rubbing at his awareness like a sore tooth. It took him a moment to realise what it was but then it struck him, each hold had been exactly one hundred paces apart, yet the gap between the two nearest was two hundred.

Kerubim's suspicions flared and he stepped to the wall, running his gauntlets over the smooth metal. Instantly his hands felt the smallest quiver of an energy field, the feedback tingling the servos of his armour. He peered at the wall, looking for anomalies and had to squint to make out the faintest seam hidden in the metal. His hearts surged with triumph, he had found something, a hidden room bleeding an active energy field. How it could have been sustained for so long mystified him but if someone had gone to the trouble of hiding this it must surely be worthy of acquiring. Kerubim stepped back and pondered how he was to get inside. There was no apparent handle or lock, no keyhole or auspex scanner. He suspected the door may be set to respond to some transmitted key phrase on a preset vox-frequency, which did him absolutely no good at all. Kerubim could try scanning the mechanism for clues but that would take time he did not have. So he decided to take the direct route.

"Bane: target these coordinates," Kerubim said and fed a string of numbers to the Vorax. Instantly the melta flared, sending out a stream of sub-fusion fire that cut through the wall with ease. Kerubim had the Vorax slice the seam apart, severing any locks within and was rewarded by a clunk as a secret door disengaged, moving out of the wall a few inches. The beam snapped off and Kerubim stepped nearer, forcing his gauntlets into the still dripping gap to force the door wider. It resisted for a moment then rumbled open just enough for him to enter, as the distinctive tang of a stasis field breaking down issued forth.

Kerubim was eager to enter but first he voxed, "Come in, can anyone hear me?"

The vox had to penetrate several decks but his Brothers must still be in range for a voice answered, "Ferrac here, what is it?"

Kerubim told him, "I've found something, come and see. You all have to see this!"

"Acknowledged," Ferrac replied, "Hold position, we're en-route."

Kerubim knew he should wait but he couldn't resist the urge to explore. He had his armour data-cant an update of his map to the others, so they would know how to find him, and then squeezed through the opening, leaving Bane to stand guard. On the other side a wan light illuminated a hall as wide as a hold but far longer. The roof was hung with cooling stasis-field projectors and the walls were baffled against detection, which Kerubim judged must be breaking down else he would never have found this place. The far wall was taken up by a vast vault door hiding half the chamber, with huge locks binding the hatch closed, but in the outer space lay wonders.

Kerubim's jaw fell as he held stacked rows of weapon racks, each bearing heavy looking rifles and other armaments. He spied the familiar shape of Fission-blasters, smaller man-portable versions of the ones the Cadmus robots had wielded. There were also other types of energy weapons on display, with twin-barrels and some form of flamer. Grenades were stacked up in boxes, knives were held in upright display cases and strange devices squatted in the corners. His eye was caught by the sight of power amour standing upright and he immediately hurried over, filled with excitement, but was brought up short by its bizarre dimensions. The plate was far too short for any Astartes to wear, being somewhat similar to images of Inquisitorial plate Kerubim had studied yet too broad for a mortal man. It had a pot helm with some unknown heraldic device emblazoned on the forehead and glinting eye lenses that seemed to be deep in thought. It was a very dark shade of gold and strange weapons were worked into the vambraces, so that Kerubim could hardly tell where the implements began or ended. He instantly determined that no Astartes could wear this, in fact it was so divergent from STC designs he doubted it would even serve as parts for their own gear. Kerubim spied a small plaque on the stand and he leaned down to translate the proto-gothic as best he could, "Something... something... Solar… Knight…"

Kerubim stepped back and determined to make a thorough study of this place. He moved through the racks translating each type of weapon and a few he comprehended immediately, others he was left baffled by. There were more armours and racks of many types of weapons, he had little idea how they functioned but they were in perfect condition thanks to the stasis field. Kerubim stopped to examine a strange form of force-field projector when he heard a scuffle and saw the rest of the Amber Vipers filing in.

Kerubim turned to greet them but was startled as he spied their state and exclaimed, "What happened to you? Why are you blooded? Where is Excelsium?"

Ferrac strode into the hidden vault and growled, "Don't ask."

"But…" Kerubim protested.

Brother Kregulf stepped nearer, his faceplate covered in a bloody hand-print and said, "Don't… just don't. We'll tell you later. Tell us what you've found."

Kerubim gave him a curious look but turned to take in the place and explained, "An armoury, a hidden armoury."

"I can see that," Ferrac said as he picked up a bulky knife and peered at the tip, "There are notches in this, what kind of fool puts a hole in a knife?"

He was startled when a puff of compressed air shot out of the tip, right into his eye and Kerubim grinned as he explained, "I translated the inscription, it's a 'gas-compression' knife. There's a micro-compressor in the hilt, I think it's used to load neurotoxins and inject them right into the target's flesh."

Ferrac rubbed his eye but didn't put down the knife as he said, "Could be useful."

Kregulf reached into a display case and took out a crystal knife that flashed with inner light and said, "This one is different, uniquely formed, look at how the light catches it. It must be valuable."

Ferrac snapped at him, "When I want your miserable opinion I'll tell you what it is."

Kerubim was taken aback by the hostility in his tone but Ferrac snapped, "What else have we got?"

"I hardly know where to begin," Kerubim answered, "More Fission-blasters for certain but there's also Adrathic weapons, Volkite pistols, Rad-grenades, neurotoxins, Burst-lances, caustic chemical agents and some form of flamer that throws toxic chemicals… the closest translation I can make is 'Bile-flamer'."

Kregulf sounded horrified as he spat, "Bio-chemical weapons? Poisons, radiation bombs and toxin throwers… By the Throne what kind of foes were the Rangdan to be met by these filthy armaments?"

Kerubim drew in a breath but Ferrac growled, "Kregulf, speak again without permission and I will rip your tongue out."

Kerubim was baffled as to what had happened in his absence, and determined to find out what he had missed as soon as possible. For his part Kregulf wisely shut up, though he stowed the crystal knife at his belt. Ferrac turned to Kerubim and asked, "These armours, can we use them?"

Kerubim shook his head and explained, "No, totally incompatible with our blessed plate. I can't even use them for parts. The weapons however should work as they are."

"Then we will make do," Ferrac snapped, "These weapons will suffice, everybody load up."

The Marines moved to take items from the weapons racks but Brother Vardat, who curiously held Excelsium's trident, said, "Battle-Captain is this wise? These weapons… they are dishonourable. They will sully our martial pride."

Ferrac snorted back, "Fancy words aren't going to beat the Eldar, this is the only advantage we can get. I suspect this ship was on a mission of Xenocide, to eradicate these Rangdan down to the last female and youngling, a most laudable goal. Remember the teachings of the Emperor: the Xeno is without honour and aliens deserve only eradication."

The others moved to obey but Ferrac looked up at the immense vault door and said, "What's this?"

Kerubim paused as he said, "That's what worries me the most, a sealed vault door inside a hidden vault. Why bother doing that? Who puts a safeguard inside a safeguard?"

Brother Sedya hefted a Fission-blaster as he said, "Maybe someone who really, really doesn't want anybody getting their hands on what's in there."

However Ferrac countered, "You're all blind, look at this door, look closely. The locks... they're all on the outside."

Kerubim frowned as he spluttered, "What?! But that makes no sense, why would anyone do that?"

Ferrac answered, "Because the builders did not want to prevent someone from getting in, but rather something from getting out. Whatever's in there the makers of this place feared it greatly. More than any enemy, they feared the contents of that vault."

Kerubim glanced around a room filled with toxic death and pondered, "These warriors embraced poisonous filth as a weapon of choice, what could people like that fear?"

Ferrac grinned as he proclaimed, "I don't know but I intend to find out. Get this door open, whatever's in there I want it."


	65. Chapter 65

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 65**

He dropped the knife and let it fall to the mud, covered in blood stains. His breath rasped inside the confines of his helm, the internal air supply roaring in his ears as his body laboured to restore itself. Below him the body of the White Scar commander fell still as blood gushed out of the immense gash in the throat, the transhuman blood mixing with the methane in the atmosphere to create strange colours. Around him the battle of Lorthal raged on, purple and white figures clashing in the murky haze but Reddam saw none of it.

He had slain a fellow loyalist Space Marine; he had killed one of the Emperor's Finest. In a long lifetime a Reddam had killed countless Heretic and Xenos, he had fought Traitors, renegades and misguided fools without a qualm. He had slain those who turned against the Golden Throne and those who refused to bend the knee, with pride and hatred even those from his own Chapter who embraced Heresy. In shameful moments he had slain innocents and steadfast Guardsmen, but that wasn't the same, they had been necessary acts and the lives lost had been doomed regardless. But this Astartes was different, a noble warrior hero, a champion of the Imperium and a gloried warrior. This one had stood for all that was good and right in the galaxy, he was truly the best of men and Reddam had killed him. What did that make Reddam, he asked himself, had he crossed the line and become the renegade all others held his kind to be.

Reddam didn't know how long he sat staring at the corpse but suddenly Shrios came running out of the fog shouting, "Reddam, snap out of it, we have got to go!"

Reddam blinked in confusion as he said, "What?"

"Emperor Wept," Shiros barked as he shoved Reddam hard, "Get it together, Coluber is falling back, we are evacuating!"

Reddam's heart felt like a stone but he was yet an Astartes, hardened and Hypno indoctrinated for battle. Walls of self-control slammed down, shunting his recriminations into a tiny box and his body leapt into motion. His eyes scoured the ground for a weapon but his bolter was in pieces. Bereft of any arms he grabbed the only thing he could see, the White Scar's spear and held it in both hands as he rose to his feet and followed the Apothecary.

Flashes of light surrounded them, exchanges of bolt fire mixed with the roars of bike engines and Reddam shouted, "They won't let us go so easily!"

Shrios shouted back, "Then we fight our way out, either we reach the evac shuttles or we die here. There are no other options."

Reddam gripped his new spear in his hands and his heart trembled at the thought of killing more loyal Brothers. Yet he shoved his misgivings aside and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. He focused solely on the fight to come but at the back of his mind a tiny voice whispered that this day would haunt his nights and the guilt would follow him evermore. Suddenly the ground shook, buffeting him madly. That wasn't right, he didn't remember an earthquake on Lorthal. The world was breaking up before his eyes, images dissolving into hash and nothingness. Reddam tried to make out anything but his eyes were confused, he seemed to be looking at a tree. That's wasn't right, trees didn't grow on Lorthal. Then it hit him, he wasn't on Lorthal, he was on Athelling and Glord was shaking him awake.

"Wha…" Reddam hissed but was cut off as Glord's hand clamped over his mouth and he frantically put a finger to his lips. Reddam blinked in confusion as the world righted itself. He found himself laying flat on his back, covered in leaves and staring up at the soaring canopy far above. His back itched and his chest was cold and wet from blood loss while his throat screamed for water, but his instincts demanded he be silent. At his side Glord lay under a pile of heaped leaves and brush, obviously having piled it up over the both of them.

Reddam tried to grasp what had compelled him to do this, then he saw it. Flapping a half-kilometre over his head a green flying beast was passing by, its rider scouring the floor below. It was an Eldar and it was looking for them. Reddam bit down on the urge to ask questions, the hunter was far too close to risk speaking aloud. Normally he would have discounted the chances of a visual sweep catching them from so high above but Eldar senses were keener than any human's, even an Astartes'. Reddam heard his hearts thumping loudly in his chest and was amazed the Eldar couldn't hear it too. Yet the hunter flew away in a straight line, heading further into the forest without any indication that it had seen them.

After a moment Glord sat up, spilling leaves from his body as he said, "That was close, we can't stay here."

Reddam felt gruff hands grabbing his body as Glord heaved him up and asked, "How long was I out?"

Glord pulled him upright and said, "Another day, I thought you weren't going to make it."

Reddam could barely stand, even with assistance but still asked, "How much further?"

"Not far," Glord explained, "If we push ourselves we can be back at base within a day. I don't think anyone else has made it this far, I haven't seen any other humans for hours."

Reddam opened his mouth to ask if they should risk a vox call, but at that exact moment a trio of Eldar bounded from behind a tree and charged at them. They were riding two-legged beasts with snapping fangs and they wielded long lances with expert skill. Reddam's hand flashed to Glord's belt and grabbed the bolt pistol hanging there but before his trembling arm could rise he was thrown from his feet. Glord heaved Reddam to the ground and lifted the spear in both hands, meeting the Eldar with the point.

Reddam gasped as the wind was knocked out of him and lines of fire encompassed his ribs but all he could see was Glord meeting the Xenos blade to blade. The first lance came at him but Glord knocked it away with a lateral swipe, then he dodged the snapping fangs of the mount that followed after. Only a Space Marine could move with such speed and surety, a mortal could never have evaded with such skill and the Eldar were dumbfounded by their prey's unexpected agility. The riders let out a wild yell as they swept about, trying to stab the warrior with their lances but Glord was in too close to hit. The spear's point gouged a line of blood alongside the flank of a mount, while the butt cracked against a knee, forcing one of the beasts to stagger. The Xenos screamed insults at the lone warrior but Glord ducked and weaved between their blows, using the confusion to his advantage as he yelled, "Ave Imperator!"

Glord was doing well but for all his skill and speed he was still outnumbered three to one and the Eldar had him surrounded. A lance scored over his shoulder, showering blood from a vicious slice. Glord spun on his heel and tried to fight back but another lance caught him a slashing blow to the flank, then the third lashed over the back of his leg, dropping him to one knee. Glord parried and denied but he was surrounded and outnumbered, he couldn't cover his own back and frankly his skill with a spear was dubious at best. He was a heavy weapon trooper, not a melee fighter.

Laying prone upon the ground Reddam saw his Brother's distress and knew he was witnessing Glord's death throes. In moments a fatal blow would land and that would be his end. A surge of denial welled up within Reddam, after everything he had seen and done he was about to watch Glord die. Glord, who had carried him through hostile territory, always having a ready laugh and a cheerful attitude. Reddam wouldn't let that happen, he couldn't allow it and the thought brought with it a wave of righteous anger. Hot rage flowed through Reddam and lent him its power.

He gritted his teeth and set his shoulder straight as he fought to lift his right arm. Pain and weakness clawed at him, the wound in his chest trying to steal his strength and drag his arm back down, but Reddam refused to yield. Reddam was Astartes, his will was iron and his determination unbreakable. His injury was the enemy and he would meet it with the same defiance and rage as he would any other. He focussed everything he had into lifting his right arm, drawing his bolt pistol into alignment and then he fired. A percussive bang shot forth as the pistol fired, the recoil sending his arm skidding away but he managed to get off a trio of shots before the pistol shook itself from his numb hand.

In his injured state Reddam's aim was atrocious, his targeting poorer than the rawest aspirant on the firing range. Two bolts went sailing off into nothing but the third clipped one of the mounts, ripping away a few scales. The bolt didn't explode inside the target but instead flew away but the impact caused the beast to jerk aside, stung by the shot. The trio of Eldar reared back, startled by the unexpected shot and at that moment Glord swung low, cleaving the mount's leg off. The Eldar toppled with a scream, thrashing to get free of the falling beast but was unable to get clear. The bellowing animal fell on top of him, crushing his spindly body under its bulk and then both rider and mount fell still.

Reddam hoped the other two Eldar would be dumbstruck long enough to be taken out but they reacted instantly, spurring their mounts to break free. They ran ten metres away and then turned to face the Astartes once more, their lances held low. Glord placed himself between them and Reddam and called, "Come on then, let's have at it!"

The mounts pawed the ground as the Eldar barked back, "Filthy Mon-keigh!"

Reddam wasn't sure if that was all the gothic they knew but it hardly mattered, this was the end. The Sergeant looked up at Glord, who might have made it back to base had he left Reddam behind and knew he had forsaken his own life for their Brotherhood. Reddam fumbled for his bolt pistol and managed to get the grip back in his hand as he said, "Brother… I thank you."

Glord kept his eyes on the Eldar and the spear level as he replied, "No need, this is a fine death and I am happy to share it with you."

Reddam fought to lift his pistol as he hissed, "Then let us die proud and go to the Golden Throne together."

Glord snorted, "Wherever we're going, there better be a good beer."

Suddenly the Eldar let out a wild yell and spurred their mounts into a charge. Their clawed feet tore the ground as they sprinted forward, fangs gleaming and the riders steering their lances with deadly skill. They had the Astartes' measure now and they would not miss again. Reddam saw them take one ponderous step, then another and another, their charge as irresistible as the wind. Yet on the fourth step another force intervened.

Suddenly a hail of bolt rounds came out of nowhere, scything in from behind to catch the Eldar in the rear. The Xenos were struck in the backs and the mass-reactive rounds tore them to shreds, exploding their bodies apart in showers of gore. The beasts went down under the barrage, massive craters blown into their bodies and they collapsed at Glord's feet as the warrior exclaimed, "What the Frak?!"

Reddam's eyes lifted and he saw the most wondrous sight, a trio of Amber Vipers bounding forward. They were a motley collection, two warriors of Primus and Brother of Secundus in scout-plate, but all of them were advancing with bolters raised. Reddam recognised the leader, Sergeant Nuros, a fellow survivor of the Old Seventeen, and the Sergeant had never been so relieved to see another Astartes in his life.

Glord lowered his spear and gasped, "Where did you come from?!"

Nuros replied gruffly, "No need to thank us for saving your lives."

Reddam interjected then, "Nuros, I am damn glad to see you. Thanks for your timely assistance."

"Don't mention it," Nuros sniffed, "We heard the fighting and came as fast as we could. We thought we were the only ones to make it this far. Glad to see you alive, but why are you laying in the mud?"

Glord reached down and heaved Reddam to his feet saying, "The Sergeant is injured, he needs an Apothecary."

Nuros scoffed, "Injured? Let me see… Emperor Wept! Reddam, how are you still alive?"

"Not sure," Reddam replied, "But this is hardly the time or place."

"Indeed it's only another five kilometres to base," Nuros replied, "Here, let us help carry you."

However Glord replied defensively, "I've got him."

Reddam sighed, "Don't be stupid, let them help you."

Yet Glord stated firmly, "I brought you this far, I'm taking you the rest of the way."

Reddam knew Glord was being a stubborn fool but hadn't the heart to argue with him. As he was once more slung over Gord's shoulder he felt only gratitude towards his Brother. It made him realise that despite his past loses he had had not forsaken everything, he still had the Brotherhood of his comrades and that made everything to him. As the survivors headed for the base Reddam looked to the future with confidence, sure that so long as they stood together the Amber Vipers would overcome anything.


	66. Chapter 66

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 66**

Ferrac waited in the dark, standing still and silent. His jump pack was pressed up against a bulkhead but before him extended a balcony, sticking out into the dank air. He was alone but he knew the other Amber Vipers were nearby, waiting for his signal to act. Ferrac wanted to give that order; he wanted retribution for the losses his Chapter had suffered on this world. The need for vengeance squatted in his heart like a lump of burning coal, scorching his innards with festering hate but he held firm. They would only get one shot at this and he needed to make the most of it.

Below his position was a major thoroughfare, an arterial route through the bowels of the Apophis. The walls were high and lined with balconies and bridges, making it a complex multi-tiered nexus in the ship. Ancient images adorned the walls, faded into obscurity until nothing could be made out. The air processors fitted to the roof hadn't functioned in thousands of years, making the air dank and musty, had Ferrac not been Astartes he would be struggling to breathe. Surely once this place must had served as a transit for the ship's crew, but now it served the Eldar.

Far below numerous Xenos were passing along the thoroughfare, hundreds of them flowing through the space, illuminated by glowing orbs held on sticks. They were using the passage to move quickly through the ship, spreading their hunting parties far and wide. They sought to cover as much ground as possible and cut off the Amber Viper's escape. The notion made Ferrac grin under his helm, the Xenos thought they had him on the run, little realising that the tables were about to turn. Ferrac was armed and equipped with items taken from the armoury: grenades, pistols and knives though he had kept his trusty axe-rake, nothing would part him from that. At his feet squatted a bulky device, too large and cumbersome to carry on his person. Kerubim swore it was a force-field projector of some description, though Ferrac had never seen one like this, he could only trust that the boy knew what he was talking about.

Ferrac noticed that the number of Eldar was increasing, ever more of them flowing through the nexus. That was good, he wanted a critical mass of foes to unleash his new weapons upon, the element of surprise was an advantage that could only be used once. The feral Xenos looked laughable in their woad and feathers, their arrows and spears flimsy things, but he knew how dangerous they could be. Plus there were the beasts travelling with them, their clawed feet, tusks and impenetrable shells dangerous even to him. The Eldar's numbers were so great that he could barely see the deck anymore and Ferrac judged it was time. The Battle-Captain leaned down and pressed a rune on the projector, which glowed bluely from its many coils and dishes, then he stepped out onto the balcony and cried, "Face me Xeno scum!"

The Eldar's reaction time was astounding, a hundred pairs of eyes darted to his position and just as many bows drew taut and fired at him. Ferrac faced a hurricane of arrowheads coming right at him, their thorn-tips sharp enough to penetrate his plate. They crossed the distance in moments, but then they encountered his force-field. Kerubim had tried to explain it's function to him, saying that the term force-field was a catchall for a staggering variety of types and grades of shields. Most Imperial devices functioned on the principle of creating a standing particle field or shifting dangerous elements away or dropping them into the Warp, but this one was different. The strange device did not convert power to create a defence but rather drained energy from incoming fire, robbing matter of molecular dynamism and energy shots of vitality. The rate was relative to velocity so the faster an incoming shot moved the more energy the projector stole. As the arrows crossed an invisible boundary their molecules were drained of energy, slowing down to almost nothing. The arrows froze in mid-air, becoming flying blocks of chilled matter that lost all tensile strength. Ferrac felt the frozen arrows patter off his armour, their forms shattering harmlessly against his plate after passing through what he had daubed a 'Frost-field'. The Eldar were dumbfounded, unable to grasp what had happened and then Ferrac acted.

"Now Brothers!" he cried as he took up a grenade from his belt. Down the length of the passageway other Amber Vipers emerged from cover, stepping out into the open and drawing grenades of their own. Ferrac took the odd cylinder from his belt, stolen from the armoury, and popped the pin before tossing it over the balcony along with the rest of the squad. His grenade passed through the Frost-field and was chilled by its effects, but it was moving slowly enough not to be rendered inert. It spun through the air, tumbling gracefully down onto the Eldar and it detonated above their heads. A soft pop signalled the internal charge breaking open the containment vessel, a deceptively small sound for a blast that sprayed radioactive filaments over the crowd. Ferrac's rad-counter began ticking alarmingly as the shrapnel scythed forth, ploughing into unarmoured flesh and scaly hides. The effect on the Eldar was far more distressing, dozens of them went down with metallic splinters cutting into their bodies, the physical damage devastating to their unprotected forms. Yet that was merely the start for the filaments were lethally radioactive. Skin blackened in seconds, sooty veins worming deeply within the bodies of the injured as rad-particles killed their cells. Fingers and toes withered in the blast, eyes went blind and throats closed as if they were breathing in choking gas. Those struck by the blasts fell from their mounts, dying with black lines of rot burrowing into them. Even those nearby were not able to avoid the fallout, doubling over and retching as rad-sickness overwhelmed them with nausea.

The rad-grenades were potent weapons yet their effects were short-lived, the filaments having a half-life of less than a minute once released. The Eldar had been struck a deadly blow, yet their sorrow had only just begun. Other grenades contained a variety of poisons, choking gases and nerve gases, mixing together to create a toxic miasma that billowed through the nexus. Eldar fell to their knees, clawing at their throats and unable even to scream as they fought to draw a single breath. The Eldar had been dealt a crippling blow and before they could recover Ferrac snarled, "Open fire!"

Across the length of the passageway the Amber Vipers emerged, each bearing energy weapons stolen from the armoury. Ferrac lifted a Volkite Serpenta in his hand and drew a bead upon an Eldar with feathers woven to his back like a cape. The grip was far too small for his hand and he would far rather have had his sledgehammer gun, but he would make do. A squeeze of the trigger and a flash of searing crimson light shot forth, a thermal ray that struck the target dead on. Volkite technology was a lost art in the Imperium, the arcane thermal devices beyond any Magos' ability to replicate but their effects were still remembered. Flesh deflagrated under the searing power of the ray, turning to ash that explosively jetted out from the impact site. The Eldar target died before he knew he had been hit, dissolving into a cloud of flaming ash and feathers that coated his fellows in a shower of disintegrating flakes.

Ferrac fired again and again, killing with every shot but the others had chosen more perilous weapons. Kregulf, Paneyr and Berio had taken up the burden of carrying Fission-blasters and they discharged actinic red blasts into the crowd. Ferrac's rad-counter increased its ticking with every shot, each pull of the trigger staining the environment with poisonous fallout. Scores of Eldar disappeared in bursts of red light, atomised by the star-hot blasts. On and on the Amber Vipers fired, tearing ragged holes into the crowd, leaving behind piles of slain foes and still the rad-count only increased. They were slaughtering droves of Xenos but the cost to their bodies was terrible. Blowback from the Fission-blasters coated their armour, seeking to violate their flesh and had they not been Astartes they would have already received lethal doses of radiation. As if that wasn't enough the fallout denatured their proud colours, staining their amber heraldry black. The trio's arms and breastplates were infected with growing stains of blackness, but they stoically bore the affront to their warrior pride and continued firing.

Elsewhere Kerubim leaned over a balcony and fired an Adrathic rifle into the crowd. The energy weapon was so rare that Ferrac had never even heard of such a thing, indeed no adept outside the Imperial Palace on Terra would have recognised the golden blasts, though they would have been outraged that any other possessed such a device. Fission-blasters, Volkites and Adrathic guns fired into the crowd, decimating the Eldar in droves, but one other had yet to add his fury. Brother Radfal stepped out of the darkness and pointed a bile-flamer into the crowd and then ejected a spray of toxic chemicals. No purifying fire was released from this weapon, no stream of cleansing flame. The chemical spray coated its targets in a caustic sludge that clung to their skin even as it ate it away and produce choking clouds of toxic gas. Beset by radiation, toxic gas and burning sludge the Eldar fell screaming to the floor, watching their skin rotting off, hair falling out and teeth dropping from rotting gums. They clawed at their dissolving faces and beat their heads in agony as the passageway became an abattoir of nightmares.

Ferrac lifted his axe-rake and snarled, "Finish them!" He matched deeds to words as he stepped off the balcony and fell feet first to the deck. He felt an icy claw grip his innards as he passed through his arcane protection but he hit the ground with a thud and swung his axe-rake, chopping apart the nearest Xeno. The Eldar were in no state to fight back, left dying on their knees from the noxious environment, even those least afflicted were doubled over in pain, retching and vomiting profusely as radiation sickness tore at their guts. Ferrac too felt the effects, his armour's seals were clogged with toxic fumes and his rad-counter screamed constantly in his ear yet he pressed on. He waded through the crowd, axe-rake rising and falling with a methodical rhythm. This was not a fight, this was pitiless butchery, without challenge or honour. Ferrac was doing no more than executing helpless Eldar and in his hearts he suspected the Xenos would welcome the cold peace of death.

Two more thuds announced Brothers Vardat and Sedya joining him. They wielded long-handled glaives with crackling blade edges. Burst-lances they had deemed the weapons and in their hafts were concealed volkite generators, sheathing the edges with a contact thermal effect. They struck the collapsed Eldar with great sweeps of their lances and where they made contact flesh dissolved into flaming ash. Sedya dispatched Eldar with shallow cuts, the explosive after-effects enough to inflict lethal wounds. Vardat went after the larger beasts, favouring thrusting stabs to plunge his lance into chests and watch as the animals burst into clouds of ash. The pair were wrecking slaughter and all the while red and gold blasts kept descending from on high, mixed with streams of toxic sludge.

Ferrac was starting to have trouble breathing in the putrid haze, his throat burning and his multi-lung struggling to filter the toxins from the air. His skin itched from rad-contact and his eyes watered but still he pressed on, hewing heads from necks with relentless sweeps of his axe-rake. He marched from one end of the nexus to the other, killing all he encountered until at last he found one of the shelled creatures. He lifted his axe-rake but there was no need to strike for the animal was dying already, its lungs rotting from the inside out. It collapsed at his feet, eyes liquefying in their sockets and he realised that this was the last of the enemy.

Ferrac turned to survey his handiwork and was amazed to see nothing but piles of corpses. Hundreds of Eldar dead were laid up in every corner, their faces pictures of terror and torment. Ferrac had seen atrocities beyond count in his life and been responsible for many of them but even so this gave him pause. The fight had become a massacre, a place not of valorous battle but bloody slaughter. The weapons had been undeniably effective but their dishonourable nature left a bad taste in his mouth and a coldness in his hearts that had nothing to do with the environment.

Brother Vardat approached through the toxic haze saying, "We cannot stay, the toxicity overwhelms our armour's spirit. The very air has become poison."

Ferrac began walking away as he said, "All Brothers, fall back, this is a start but we haven't won anything yet. We will hit the Eldar again and again until they are all dead."

From above Kregulf called, "Again?! Battle-Captain these weapons are dishonourable. They are the tools not of a warrior but a sadistic torturer, it is an affront to our martial pride to wield such filth."

Ferrac wished he could say he agreed, he never wanted to see such armaments used again, but he knew they had no other choice. The Amber Vipers had to wield these weapons or lose the war, which meant he had to drive any doubt from his Brother's heads. "You have no right to speak to me of dishonour," Ferrac barked harshly, "Killing Eldar is all that matters. Death is death, by bolter, blade or poison matters not. We have these guns and we have no choice save to use them. Follow me and let's set up our next ambush."

With that Ferrac led his brothers from the scene of the massacre, seemingly unflinching in his resolve but troubled in his hearts. He hadn't been lying when he told the others that they would have to use these weapons but what he hadn't told them was that these were mere toys compared to what he had seen inside the secret inner vault. After what he had beheld in that place Ferrac was starting to think the galaxy would have been better off had the Apophis remained lost forever.


	67. Chapter 67

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 67**

The cold metal operating table lay underneath him, chilling his naked back with its bare surface. In his eyes was a glaring light, hanging over his head and shining onto his chest. Under that light hooded figures leant over his frame, their soft whispers a constant drone in the background. Above him hung bags of saline fluid and cloned-blood, feeding into his implant sockets via long cables and there were many beeping machines. The room smelled of antiseptics, blood and the acrid tang of disinfectants. Under that musk was a lingering hint of rot and decay that he was slightly concerned might be coming from him. He wished he could raise his head and look at what was happening but he had not the strength. This was nothing to do with analgesia, for he had received none, Reddam simply hadn't the energy to move.

The light shining in his eyes was obscured as a bulky figure in white armour shifted position, his armoured gauntlets exploring the ragged wound in the Sergeant's chest. It was Apothecary Shrios and he was tending to Reddam's wounds with diligent care. The Marine bore harsh lines on his face, his concerns and sorrows weighing down heavily upon him, yet he worked on regardless. His head was exposed but over his right eye was strapped a curious device, a series of lens and augurs held on thin arms that clicked into position in seemingly random patterns, magnifying the Apothecary's sight and expanding his visual range into frequencies beyond human perception. Over his head floated a servo-skull with a large candle set on its polished skull, chanting prayers for healing and restoration in a looped cycle while in the corner of the Apothecarion a servitor held trays of medical tools, the tattoos on its arms proclaiming this one had once been a chattel of the Amber Viper, condemned to this half-life for some forgotten transgression.

Reddam had been laying on this gurney for over an hour as various adepts podded and poked him, examining his wounds and inspecting his condition. He had been an object of curiosity ever since they made it back to base. To his surprise he and Glord hadn't been the first to make it back, nor the last, but none had been injured in the manner he had. The bulk of the Chapter had returned in their transports but their losses had been considerable. The few Amber Vipers creeping back in ones and twos had been worn out and bleary-eyed but they were largely hale and every soul to return had been welcomed most warmly. Even a handful of mortals had somehow stumbled through the forest, not many but even one was more than Reddam had expected. Yet even with this good news the Eldar had still hurt the expedition most grievously, a matter Reddam intended to address, if he ever got off this damnable table.

"How much longer is this going to take?" Reddam muttered from his prone position.

Apothecary Shrios didn't look up as he said, "This is delicate work, the wounds should have closed days ago. There's some form of crystal shards in the incisions, keeping it from closing."

"I know that," Reddam hissed, "Get them out."

Shrios frowned as he said, "They are emitting an unknown form of energy, possibly psychic in nature. I dearly wish we had a Librarian to examine this, there's so much to learn."

Reddam scoffed, "A Librarian? You might as well wish for the Adeptus Custodes to sail forth from Terra and bestow the Amber Vipers with the keys to the Throneroom. Now, are you going to take the damned things out or not?"

Shrios sniffed, "I need more time to study this or it could kill you."

Reddam snapped, "If you don't I'm dead anyway, or worse."

Shrios replied coldly, "But the way the energy attacks the cell-structures is fascinating. Close study could advance my research of new poisons in so many ways."

"I'm not your damned lab-rat," Reddam snapped.

Shrios' head came up and he blinked as he said, "What? Oh yes, excuse me. I get lost in my research; of course I was going to take them out. Let us begin."

The Apothecary turned to his menials and took up a micro las-scalpel and a device with tiny mechandrites that wriggled like worms. He sprayed them with antiseptics and then bent over the wounds. Reddam felt pain spiking in his limbs but he refused to show weakness, these damned shards in his guts were the enemy and an Astartes gave the enemy nothing save contempt. He couldn't see what was happening but there was a lot of muttering and pulling and prodding, and the hiss of las-cutting flesh as Shrios informed him, "The shards have dug microscopic filaments into the tissue, I can't remove them… I will have to cut away the surrounding tissue to excise them."

"Get on with it," Reddam muttered through gritted teeth.

There were a few more pulls and an awful whiff of soldered muscles and blood then there was a sharp clink as something was dropped into a glassic container. Reddam lay helpless as the minutes crawled by and Shrios removed shard after shard from the wound. As the minutes inched past Reddam felt a strange warmth creeping into his limbs, driving out a coldness that he had grown so accustomed to. His skin began to itch and his head grew clearer, dispersing the foggy haze that had bedevilled him. Reddam was growing uncomfortable and he shifted his feet to adjust position, only to be stunned when he realised he had regained control of his legs. He wiggled his toes in delight, luxuriating in the sensation of being able to move anything.

"Hold still," Shrios snapped testily, "You there, spray more anti-coagulant here, the Larraman organ is working again but the clotting factors are getting in the way." Reddam concentrated on laying still as he heard clink after clink, the shards being excised from his body one by one. He had no idea how long the procedure took but with every shard he felt more strength returning to him, the power of the Adeptus Astartes filling him once more.

Finally Shrios stated, "They're all out, you apply sutures here, here and here. You there, apply sealant spray and bandages."

Reddam lifted his head and said, "It's done?"

Shrios stepped back as the hooded menials finished the operation, he sprayed his gauntlets with cleansing fluids and lifted off his eyepiece as he said, "You're damned lucky none of your implanted organs were destroyed. The energy in the shards was suppressing them somehow but they are physically intact, you should feel them working even now."

Reddam could certainly feel it and as the menials finished dressing his wounds he sat up and said, "Praise the Emperor."

The menials withdrew from the Apothecarion as Shrios checked a machine displaying vital functions and muttered, "Recovery speed is excellent, vital signs are stabilising, tissues regrowing at nominal rates, hormone production at peak efficiency. The shards really were the only thing keeping you down. Here, do you want to see?"

Reddam reached out and took a small glass dish from the tray held by the servitor, seeing piles of green crystal laid within. "They're so small," Reddam exclaimed, "How could this trouble an Astartes?"

"I don't know," Shrios said, "But I intend to find out. You rest up for an hour and then we'll see if you can walk."

Reddam however wasn't about to wait and slid off the gurney saying, "I'm good to go."

"Wait!" Shrios said as he spun about in alarm. Reddam jumped down, only to be pulled up short by the various lines plugged into his Black Carapace, the action pulled over the drip stands and they fell to the floor with a clatter. Reddam grimaced apologetically but Shrios merely sighed and waved the servitor to clear up the mess of fluids and blood. It took a few seconds for Reddam to unplug the lines but then he was able to push himself upright and stand unassisted. He still didn't feel back to one hundred percent but he grinned as he claimed, "Fit as an ambull and ready to fight."

Shrios shook his head and said, "Damned Initiates, always pushing themselves before they're ready. You should redouble your praises to the Emperor, without the genius of his gene-craft you would have never regained the use of your legs."

Reddam took a step forward and felt his stride growing more sure with every motion. His genhanced body was rebuilding itself and he felt his confidence grow with it. By the time he reached the door he could walk without a hitch in his step and he was able to reach out and pick up a coarse robe from a peg. His left arm pulled at him as he shrugged it on, the thick scar tissue tight across his bicep and his Black Carapace equally marked. Still he was glad to be able to walk and pushed the thin door open, stepping out of the prefab hut into the Amber Viper's base. He was greeted by the hustle and bustle of a military camp at war, chattels and Marines working diligently. Machine tools whirred, munition trucks roared past and the smells of oil, engine fumes and sweaty bodies were heavy in the air. The sky overhead was without a cloud and the brilliant sun cast oppressive heat onto the base. Reddam was glad to see it, as he was the squad who were loitering around.

Reddam's Brothers rushed over to him and Joffel called, "Sergeant, you're alive!"

"Of course he's alive," Tebes retorted, "Any fool can see that."

"I knew you'd make it," Larus said, "You're too tough to kill."

Reddam greeted them with a smile and said, "You should be thanking Glord, he carried me forty kilometres through hostile territory on his back."

Glord shook his head and demurred, "Thirty-eight, only thirty-eight."

Reddam faced him and said, "One kilometre or a hundred matter not. You displayed true Brotherhood and I will never forget it."

Glord grinned as he quipped, "Would this be a good time to ask for dartboard for the barracks?"

Everybody chuckled, save Kazao who hung his helmed head and said, "Sergeant, I am sorry. We saw you go down and thought you dead, had we known…"

"Speak not of such things," Reddam reassured him, "Your vulture was damaged and in no condition to intervene, there was nothing you could have done. I hold your actions to be correct."

Kazao lifted his head in relief and Reddam looked at his Brothers, alive and well despite all that had occurred. He wanted to speak to them more but suddenly another voice cut in, "Reddam! Up and around already, I knew you were too pig-headed to die."

Reddam turned about and saw Chapter Master Coluber bearing down on him, the master wearing his scarred and battered power armour. His breastplate was rent by many tears and his Iron Halo was a sparking mess of broken gold but he still marched with sure confidence and his face was set in a determined cast. Everybody bowed briefly to their lord and Reddam said, "I am honoured you should come to visit a wounded Brother."

Coluber nodded as he said, "I am visiting all the survivors, few as they are."

Reddam gulped, "How many did we lose?"

Coluber sighed, "Too many, every soul who wanders back is a blessing but still we lost far too many."

Shrios muttered, "This is the Chapter's biggest loss since Gujarat Drift."

Coluber didn't deny it as he said, "We shall mourn this fight for years, yet when we speak of this we shall tell a tale of victory not defeat."

Reddam frowned as he said, "You intend to return?"

Coluber nodded, "Indeed, our dead shall be avenged and the Eldar shall pay for crossing us."

Reddam was glad to hear the fire in his tone but he pointed out, "We are a diminished force, our casualties are heavy and we lost much equipment. Another fight in our present condition will be risky."

"And yet we must embrace the danger," Coluber affirmed, "Ferrac and his squad are still in there, all alone. I won't abandon them to fickle fate. The Amber Vipers shall always return for our Brothers."

Reddam drew himself up and said, "And I shall be there with you, no matter the cost."

Coluber nodded solemnly but then said, "I am glad to hear it, but I do not intend to go in unprepared. While you have been slogging back to base we have been far from idle, we have been preparing a special weapon… one suggested by Brother Larus."

Reddam started in surprise and spluttered, "Larus?"

Larus looked embarrassed as he explained, "The Eldar used the forest against us, it's their natural environment. There was a big argument about whether we should call down an orbital barrage to level the place but then I suggested that fungus… you remember that one we picked up off the drift. I mean it is poisonous and it multiplies like crazy."

Reddam was confused and said, "I don't follow."

Shrios elaborated, "I thought it a mere poisonous mould, but it mutated during Warp transit. Its growth rate is exponential, not linear but geometric in progression. I had to vac-seal the compartments and starve it of oxygen to stop it overrunning the Wyvern. I've been brewing the stuff up in vats for three days. Its nasty stuff, it eats pretty much everything: metal, wood and vegetation and it's none too good for us either. It would go through those trees in minutes and I've got barrels and barrels of it being loaded onto Valkyries as we speak."

Reddam turned to his master and said, "This is your plan, to infect the forest itself?"

Coluber replied, "The enemy uses this forest against us, so I intend to burn it down around their ears. You shall be tasked with flying escort for our mission; I have six Vultures left and one of them is short a pilot."

Reddam bowed again and said, "I am honoured and I swear to you we shall exact the blood price for our losses. The Eldar shall learn to fear the venom in the fangs of the Amber Vipers."


	68. Chapter 68

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 68**

The rifle was unlike anything Kerubim had ever held before, a bulky energy projector with a strange squared off nozzle. It was the product of another age, a marvellous device wrought from forgotten science and its principles baffled the tech-adept. Adrathic weapons were not commonly seen in the Imperium, not even the most learned Tech-Priest of Mars could have understood its operation. Long ago the Emperor had decreed that such technology was the sole preserve of His companions and that all such artefacts be given unto his hand under pain of death. Kerubim knew none of this however, all he knew was the rifle was exceedingly potent and had served him well.

Kerubim turned the rifle over in the dim light, examining its bulky capacitors and energy matrix diodes. It was humbling to behold, he had thought himself practically all-knowing in matters technical, the greatest student of the lore Technis. That he had surpassed his tutors was unquestioned but what he held in his hands was evidence that he understood almost nothing of the Machine God's realm. Kerubim had thought there was no more to learn but he was coming to see that he was nothing but a child playing with pebbles on the beach while vast oceans of untapped knowledge lurked beyond his reach. Had Nathanal been holding back on him, Kerubim wondered, but discounted the possibility. His mentor had been more than generous. It was more likely that Nathanal himself was a mere rude artisan in the craft, a grubber and fixer rather than a master of arcane lore. Kerubim had been taught that the Astartes sent their Techmarines to Mars to study, a practice he had assumed was more ritual than practical, how wrong he had been. Now he saw that the greatest secrets were being held out of sight and he yearned to know them. Kerubim wanted to tread the red sands of Mars and learn all that there was to know of the Omnissiah.

"Do you two want some time alone?" came a mocking voice. Kerubim looked up and saw Brother Vardat standing across the room from him. Vardat was lurking in a shadowy alcove, his form obscured but his new lance clasped upright beside him. Nearby Kregulf squatted with his Fission-blaster, covering behind some bulky machine of indeterminate purpose. The warrior's plate was stain by black veins of discolouring, the fallout of his filthy weapon marking him more with every shot. Only his ankles and boots bore their original amber hue, the rest stark black save for the bloody handprint over his faceplate, which grew more vivid in contrast.

The three of them lurked in a wide room which was filled with decayed remnants of discarded machinery. What function it had once served eluded Kerubim, had it been a machine shop, a macro-weapon capacitor or a shield generator, he would never know. All that mattered was it was dark and secluded, the perfect place to stage an ambush. After their initial success, if one could call it that, the Amber Vipers had split up, spreading out to wreak carnage on their hunters. Even now other kill-teams were engaging, Ferrac leading them from the front as was his way. These three Brothers however had gone deeper, to catch Eldar seeking to flank the Amber Vipers and punish them most severely.

Kerubim realised his Brothers were still waiting for an answer and said, "I was contemplating the mission, Brother."

"Sergeant," Vardat corrected, "I am Sergeant now."

Kerubim found that a petty response but he hardly knew his Brothers and so deflected, "I can't believe Ferrac killed Excelsium."

"Believe it," Kregulf growled, "Killed merely for speaking from his heart. Where was the Chapter's vaunted Brotherhood in that?"

Vardat snapped, "Excelsium fostered mutiny and sedition, he broke faith with us not the other way around."

Kerubim muttered, "One thing is certain: when word of this gets out nobody will dare raise the matter again."

Kregulf lowered his eyes and said, "Aye, and now we are all cursed for it. Bearing these profane weapons is our punishment."

"Speak for yourself," Vardat replied shrugging his Burst-lance, "This is a hallowed relic; I'm never giving it up."

Kerubim heard a soft patter and hissed, "Hush, they come."

Sure enough a few seconds later a crowd of lithe figures entered through a wide doorway, riding two-legged beasts and the tusked brutes that Kerubim was coming to loathe. Scores of them poured through the doorway, a force that completely outmatched the three Asartes. They were dressed in leather, feathers and woad and their eyes were sharp. They moved into the space with steady confidence, advancing swiftly in their eagerness to flank the Amber Vipers but yet wary for traps. Kerubim knew his hiding place behind a bulky machine would only buy them a few seconds before they were discovered, but that was the whole point.

Kregulf suddenly sprung up and cried, "Ave Imperator!" as he fired his Fission-blaster. A crackling red orb shot forth and exploded among the crowd of foes. A half-dozen Xenos were blown to bits and the rad-counters began their inevitable ticking, but one gun could not produce lethal levels with one shot. The Eldar were bloodied but not defeated and they responded instantly, firing a volley of thorn tipped arrows at his position. Yet Kregulf was no longer there, he had already relocated, sprinting away without waiting to see the results of his shot.

The Eldar were not prepared to let him go and gave pursuit, yet as they advanced they became exposed to Kerubim. The Adrathic rifle discharged a golden ray, that struck an Eldar warrior with glass beads woven into her attire who rode a twin-legged beast. Kerubim had only the vaguest notion of how it worked but he suspected the gun disrupted molecular bonds, unravelling matter into free-floating atoms. The Eldar froze as golden energy washed over her, actinic sparks unravelling her molecules. Her image became hazy and indistinct, like a pict-image drifting out of focus then she and her mount dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind an afterimage that slowly faded way.

Kerubim dove out of his hiding place as outraged Eldar pursued him, their speartips sharp and their hearts burning for their losses. He forsook all thought of shooting as he ran, putting his head down and fleeing. The Eldar chased him in great leaps, their animals lending them immense speed. A hundred spear tips were aimed at his back and he had but seconds to live but then Vardat emerged from cover. With a great sweep of his lance he took the legs from a scaled animal, the contact Volkite field causing flesh to burst into flaming ash. The animal collapsed missing both legs and Vardat swung his lance about, tearing out the throat of another. The Eldar horde instantly swung about, forgetting Kerubim as they surrounded Vardat but they had no chance to overwhelm him for a crackling Fission-blast slammed into them, killing three at once. It was Kregulf, he had repositioned and was laying down cover fire for Vardat to disengage until Kerubim was in position and did the same for him.

Turn by turn the Amber Vipers fought a staged withdrawal, covering each other in sequence. They were mere inches ahead of the Eldar hunters but they fought with consummate skill and coordination. Kerubim fired and ran, over and over, falling back in good order. At last they reached the great doors set into the far wall and then they turned and ran, showing their backs to the Eldar as they fled down a long concourse.

Kerubim put his head down and sprinted for all he was worth as he gasped, "They're chasing us!"

"They," Kregulf hissed between breaths, "They seem angry."

"Good," Vardat spat, "Angry enemies make mistakes."

Behind them a horde of Eldar poured out of the door, turning to give chase. They came in scores, bounding forward in great leaps or charging with inevitable momentum. Their voices were raised in vengeful tirades, calling for blood and retribution and they would not be denied. The Space Marines could not hope to outrun their pursuers on foot, but that was not their intent. A few hundred metres down the corridor they turned and dove into another chamber, one they had selected beforehand. It was some form of octagonal lifting chamber, one that had once taken items from the depths of the Apophis to its outer hull. In essence a big airlock.

Kerubim felt hostile eyes on his back and the points of speartip inches from his neck as he ran across the airlock, each step a marathon. He was sure he was too slow and would die here but fortune favoured him as he charged through a small door on the other side. The trio skidded through and Kerubim saw Bane waiting for him as he cried, "Bane: Now!" The Vorax robot had been left on guard and at his command it hit a large rune with its cannon. A trickle of power was left in the system but it was just enough to slam the airlock door shut behind them, cutting off the Eldar with seconds to spare. A crowd of angry faces pressed up against a small glassic block set in the door while spears and claws scraped against the metal of its fabric. Given time the Eldar may have found a way through but their time had run out.

Behind them the door they had chased the Amber Vipers through rumbled closed, trapping scores of Eldar in a wide cage. Kerubim rose to his feet and watched as the crowded Eldar redoubled their attempts to get through the door, their voices rendered silent by the airtight seals. He did not move to run or fight, content merely to observe as their doom fell. Unknown to the Xenos Kerubim had secreted a single canister within the airlock, one taken from the secret inner vault at tremendous risk to his person. Triggered by the closing of the door a tiny nozzle on the top opened and a stream of invisible gas shot forth.

The Eldar were pressed up against the door, shouting something as they beat on the metal but then one of them paused. A female with blonde hair stepped back, with blood pouring from her nose. She wiped it away with a confused look but more came and then it began seeping from her eyes. Another Eldar blinked as he also began to bleed and then another and then they were all desperately trying to stop the blood gushing from their faces. They fell back with horrified expressions but their torment had only just begun. An older Eldar suddenly fell to his knees with his hands pressed to his ears. Kerubim could not hear them but saw pain and agony in the expression of the afflicted, all of them starting to wail and scream as tendrils of pain plunged into their heads.

Even the animals were not immune, the beasts thrashing and wailing as inexplicable pain stuck them. They were infected, all of them infected with the vilest kind of plague. Kerubim couldn't look away as the Eldar fell, each of them screaming in horror. They convulsed in torment, clinging to their bleeding heads as they were attacked on a microscopic level. Their nerves were on fire for they were being eaten by a phage of terrifying potency and malevolence. A viral-clade so horrific it had been deliberately written out of human history, its very existence a stain its makers wished erased from their guilty consciences.

Kerubim watched as one Eldar female staggered upright, grey ooze running out of her ears and between her fingers. It was her brain, liquefying inside her skull and pouring out of her ears. She screamed like a wild animal for a moment, then collapsed in heap, eyes staring dully at the roof as her life ended. She had died quickly, which Kerubim knew made her a lucky individual. The others would take hours to pass, maybe days, left in torment for every second of their drawn out deaths.

Suddenly Kregulf stepped in front of the door, snarling, "I've seen enough."

Vardat sounded aghast as he spluttered, "What was vile that thing?"

Kerubim swallowed a dry lump in his throat and muttered, "According to my translations, it is a variant of the Life-Eater. A viral-clade that only attacks neural tissue, it eats the brain and nervous system but leaves all else intact. I believe it was called the 'Soul-Eater'."

Kregulf growled, "An Exterminatus class weapon, you unleashed an Exterminatus weapon? On purpose?!"

Vardat concurred, "Are you insane?!"

Kerubim lifted his hands and said, "The risked was measured, the virus is contained within."

Vardat didn't sound convinced as he eyed the door and muttered, "You are certain these air seals are intact, aren't you?"

Kerubim nodded as he said, "Absolutely, I wouldn't have dared otherwise. The virus is incredibly infectious but short-lived and designed to burn itself out. I believe it was meant to depopulate worlds of all intelligent life, but leave the biosphere intact for recolonization."

Kregulf sounded angry as he spat, "These are not tools any noble warrior should sully themselves with. This profanity does not kill, it tortures, slowly and cruelly. The kind of men who built this did not seek merely to end their foe; they enjoyed watching the suffering play out. At least tell me this is the worst."

Kerubim shook his head and said, "This was the only thing I dared touch in the vault. There was more, far more: sentient malware, Omniphage nanobot swarms, Quantum displacers that can topple multiple realities onto each other, psionic devices that scour worlds bare and Phospex warheads."

Kregulf stepped back in horror and said, "This is the stuff of nightmares, literally. Weapons like this brought about Old Night and unleashed the Age of Strife. Mankind should never have embraced such profane arts."

Kerubim was taken back at that but rallied, "You would not claim such power for the Chapter? The power to enact Exterminatus on command?"

Kregulf snapped back, "I would sooner take that filth and throw it into the nearest star. The power to kill a planet is a terrible burden, one no man should wish for, but this is something else entirely. To use such weapons is the death of honour. Nobody should embrace this corruption."

With that he turned and strode off, followed by Vardat. Kerubim was left with the dead and dying, their silent moans fading as their brains dissolved. Kerubim couldn't bring himself to look at them for in his hearts he was starting to suspect that Kregulf was right. In the wrong hands, these weapons could very well end the Imperium and begin a new Age of Strife.


	69. Chapter 69

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 69**

Elhyn dwelt in the shadows of the canopy, almost invisible among the thick branches. His body was dappled by rays of light and darkness making him seem a part of the branch himself. A few leaves had fallen upon his form, caught in the folds of his clothing. They had been there for days but he had not sought to remove them, he had not so much as twitched in the whole time they had been here. He had been as the wood itself, imperturbable and timeless, taking only sips of water. His race's endurance against sleep yet one more gift from the ancestors.

For three days and three nights Elhyn had laid upon the branch, observing the Mon-keigh encampment. He had seen their frantic efforts to prepare for the coming of the Eldar, an attack that had never materialised. He had seen various stragglers wandering back to the base, the few that had evaded Eldar hunting parties blundering into the safety of their camp. Elhyn could have joined the hunters, the thought of ending Mon-Keigh lives had grown to be a pleasure, but he had held firm. The Mon-keigh were up to something, he was sure of it. The activity in their base had taken on a different timbre, they were doing something strange to their flying machines and he was determined to find out what. The Dynasts had refused to give him the forces he needed to level this offensive presence, preferring to hunt the ones who had violated the Vale of Midnight Tears. Yet Elhyn was convinced that was a mistake, the true danger lay here, nothing anyone could say would disabuse him of that notion.

Further along the branch Ilfavor rustled his wings and croaked, "Hunt, hunt now."

Elhyn didn't look away as he laid a hand on the Drake and communed, "No, we must stay here."

Ilfavor clacked his beak and snapped, "Hungry."

"Hunt later," Elhyn communed, "I need to see this."

The Drake hunched his wings and put his head into his wide chest. The Drake had departed several times during Elhyn's vigil, seeking food but had always returned. The bond betwixt rider and mount was profound and it was one neither would willingly break. Once Elhyn would have succumbed to the Drake's savage urges but now he was the dominant of the pair. He needed to be here, a sense of urgency like he had never known overwhelmed him. He had to stay here and nothing would dissuade him of that truth.

Suddenly there was a commotion among the leaves as a second Drake flew up to the branch. It gripped the wood with sharp talons and folded its wings around its form as a single Eldar jumped free. It was Panthiro, who walked along the narrow span with the total confidence of his kind, needing no handholds to balance himself. His great bow was strapped to his back and his sheath of arrows held fresh quarrels, signs that he had been engaged in the hunt for the stragglers yet lost in the forest. The strongest warrior of the kinband had been absent until now, but he had returned with a dour expression that spoke of his disdain.

Panthiro stood over Elhyn and uttered, "There you are, have you not moved since I last saw you?"

Elhyn returned his gaze to the base and said, "Someone must watch the Mon-Keigh."

"Anyone could do that, you are the Dynast's son, your presence was sorely missed in the hunt."

Elhyn glanced up at his friend and remarked, "Hunting strays in the shadows is foolish when the war is not won."

Panthiro replied, "Yet that was the decision of the Dynasts, their judgements are not for you to question."

"Are we Mon-keigh, to blindly follow orders. Am I to march where I am told and give no consideration to my own heart?"

Panthiro didn't reply swiftly, instead slowly lowering himself to sit side by side before he said, "My friend, there is more at stake than you realise. The Kinband's losses have been considerable and our spirits ache with grief. Your presence could console many hearts, but your absence drives a knife into our open wounds. Do you even know how many have fallen?"

Elhyn was shamed by the remark and lowered his eyes to say, "Too many."

Panthiro agreed, "Far too many, we are a dying race. These losses we have suffered drive us ever closer to extinction."

Elhyn refused to accept that and said, "We Exodites are more fecund than the Craftworlders, we number in the millions. The Dark Kin and the Corsairs also wax and wane, they do not fear the twilight of the Rhana Dandra."

Panthiro sighed, "The End of Days calls us all, we of Athelling are fortunate to have been left alone, save for the occasional Mon-Keigh expedition or Ork warband. Yet we too approach the end times, every generation is less than the one before and now the Ynnari poach our youths from us. How much more can our people endure? Elhyn, if you do not accept your role in the kinband the Wind-dancers may end in two or three generations."

Elhyn sighed, "I hear your wisdom and yet I cannot shake my conviction that the Mon-Keigh remain dangerous. This base is the key, the threat here has not passed. We should not let them be."

Panthiro shook his head and said, "There is nothing we can do. The Dynasts have taken the bulk of our kinbands into the Vale of Midnight Tears. Two Thousand of our warriors scour the depths, such an assembly of might has not been seen in cycles beyond counting. They will break the invaders in the depths, then we can…"

His speech was cut off as a mechanical roar arose from the Mon-Keigh base, the sound of many aircraft engines stirring to life. Bevvies of activity arose as filthy tinkerers flittered between machines, hurriedly preparing them for take-off. Crews were strapping themselves into the glassic noses of the craft as red-robed figures sprayed the machines with strange liquids and droned nonsensical claptrap. Among the gull-winged transports the noise was the greatest, the number of engines shaking the air with the rumble of an avalanche while around the edges sleeker craft trembled with building power. Yet over them all loomed a pair of heavier craft, the elite Amber killers that had taught the Eldar respect.

Panthiro gasped, "What is happening?"

Elhyn snatched up Wrymfang from where it was laying on the branch and replied, "I was right, they are up to something. Quickly, fly to my mother and summon every rider of the sky. All of them, we cannot allow the invaders to fly free."

Panthiro rose to his feet and ran for his partner as he said, "Where shall I tell your mother you shall be?"

Elhyn barked, "Keeping them occupied!"

Elhyn jumped onto Ilfavor's back and the Drake fluttered his wings as he croaked, "Hunt now?"

Elhyn communed, "Yes, my friend we hunt."

Panthiro disappeared with a flutter of great wings, soaring away as fast as he was able. Meanwhile the Mon-keigh were starting to rise from the ground, a formation of grey wings pushing into the sky. Elhyn held fast as they rose to half the tree's height, then at some unseen signal they began their advance. Blunt noses slipped into the shadows beneath the trees, leading the invaders back into the heart of the forest. Elhyn did not know what they intended but he was certain to allow them to act would be a disaster. Surely they would expect resistance, but would they expect it so soon? Did they grasp that he had been watching them without cease?

Elhyn waited until the first of them had passed under his position, little realising they had missed an enemy above them. All their guns were pointing outwards, expecting an attack but he was in the middle of their formation. When the pair of Amber craft slipped by he urged Ilfavor to lean forward and plunge from their branch, diving into the heart of the enemy. The wind tore at his face and the ground swelled in his eyes, the light and shadow playing over them as they dove. Elhyn saw the bulky craft grow from black specks to broad-winged transports and he raised Wrymfang with one hand as they rushed to meet the foe.

The grey shape flashed by and Wyrmfang cleaved through metal without impediment, then they were diving past as a transport spun from the sky trailing black smoke from a shorn wing. Elhyn had a glimpse inside as it plummeted, seeing some strange tanks the size of a Longstrider within but he had no time to wonder. The Mon-Keigh reacted with distressing speed, their many guns exploding with a torrent of firepower. Fat buzzing drones surrounded the pair, hostile projectiles seeking to end them. Ilfavor jerked left and right with random twitches, their elusive course the only defence they had. Elhyn clung on as his friend flew with all the speed and skill he possessed, trusting to blind luck to see them through.

The torrents of tracers chased them but Ilfavor moved with the speed of the wind, outpacing the ape's feeble eyesight. They dove low and then with a snap of his wings they pulled out and veered off, heading in a random direction away from the Mon-Keigh. Elhyn had hoped to sow confusion and discord among his foes but their unthinking discipline held true, the rest of the force continued on their path. He had been only one Eldar, all alone, not enough to trouble the invaders. Yet enough to warrant a hunter.

From the packed foes a lone hunter broke off, a sharper craft with a large fan intake over its pilots. Elhyn recognised that these craft were faster and better armed than their wallowing kin and they could match him for speed. The craft came at him, nose flaring with shots as it sought to rip him from the sky. Ilfavor reacted with a barrel roll, making Elhyn's stomach flip as he clung on. The salvo passed harmlessly under them as the Drake banked around a tree, using its bulk for cover. Elhyn gripped his spear as the Drake flapped to gain height, intending to outpace their hunter and circle around behind. Unfortunately the foe had grasped the same idea and was coming around the tree the other way, already firing its weapons.

Only their change in altitude saved the pair from being torn apart, and Elhyn snarled in frustrated anger as the craft shot by. The Drake tried to roll about but the hunter was quick, too quick. It spun about on a column of vector thrust and gave chase, pulling off a manoeuvre that should have snapped the bones of any regular mon-keigh. Elhyn knew the warrior-caste were tougher but had not thought them this tough, nor so skilled as the hunter fell onto their rear, weapons hammering ceaselessly.

Ilfavor could only turn and roll as best he was able, desperately evading as he sought to evade. Elhyn's world became a crazed medley of spinning sky and ground, up and down exchanging places over and over as they fled. They flew with all the skill and cunning they could muster, veering around trees, diving and rising at random yet for all their guile they could not shake the hunter. It followed them through every turn, relentless and blood-thirsty, almost like it was eager for revenge. Elhyn knew their time was running out, that the hunter would never cease until it smote them from the sky and laughed over their corpses. Elhyn refused to let that happen, he would not fall without drawing blood one more time.

He gripped Wrymfang tightly and prepared to turn and engage head-on but before he could commune his intent the sky changed around them. From the forest came a flurry of multi-hued wings, grey and red and silver and green. Scores of Drakes pouring over them and amongst them the larger wings of Krakens. At their head rode a silver Drake with a Bright Lance on its back. It was Celasia, the Dynast of the Wind-dancers coming to meet the Mon-Keigh and at her side was her hated rival, Dalsaar of the Kraken-riders.

The hunter saw them coming and broke off its pursuit, spinning about and retreating back to the Mon-Keigh formation. Elhyn however did not give chase, instead rising to meet his fellows and waving Wrymfang high as he cried, "My kin, my heart soars to see you. Let us strike as one and end this war once and for all!"


	70. Chapter 70

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 70**

The Eldar writhed in his grip, her lithe form struggling to wriggle free. Frail hands beat at his Ceramite plate and pointed feet clawed over his thigh as the Xenos fought his superior strength. It was pointless though, Ferrac's genhanced muscles overpowered the Eldar effortlessly and he held the enemy by the neck in his gauntlet. At his feet a dead animal with two legs and vicious fangs lay sprawled upon the floor, its throat torn out to gush blood over the precarious drop nearby.

Ferrac was breathing hard and his back burned where his armour had exerted itself to the limit. It had been a rough fight but once more he had emerged victorious, the piles of slain Eldar hanging off the high beams attested to that. Ferrac was standing in a vast chamber, dark and barely lit. It was buried deep within the Apophis, near to the heart of the derelict ship and so large even he had trouble making out the far walls. The space was filled with huge columns in orderly rows, each ten times as wide as he was tall and stretching from the roof to the floor, which was covered in bulky machinery. Their sides were ribbed with reinforcing buttresses and odd windows, behind which could be seen arcane devices and strange implements whose function he had no understanding of. Metallic beams passed between the columns, linked by narrow spars and accessed by steep ramps, filled with cables and conduits but also serving as bridges for him to walk on. The entire space throbbed with a sense of latent power, of vast machinery carrying out mighty operations that could snuff out a man's life without even noticing. Even after many millennia of neglect an aura of grandeur clung to the place and stirred a latent fear in the hearts of any Voidfarers. For this was the Apophis' Warp Drive, an eldritch engine that could rip apart reality and allow a Starship to enter the nightmarish realm of the Empyrean.

Ferrac paid it no mind though as he examined his foe, a slim female with flashes of red painted on her cheeks. She had come at him in the battle with a whip in hand, riding her mount with a skill he begrudgingly admitted was beyond human. It hadn't helped, Ferrac had torn the animal's legs out from under it and seized the rider in his grip. He noticed that on her chest was bound one of those odd stones all Eldar seemed to wear, even this Feral breed and he reached out to pluck it from her.

The Eldar became frantic in his grip as she discerned his intent and cried in mangled Low Gothic, "Don't touch, filthy Mon-Keigh!"

Ferrac grinned under his helm and said, "So you can speak, good. Tell me how many more of your kind are down here."

Ferrac despised all Xenos, but he was forced to admit the Xeno had some courage as she spat, "Never."

Ferrac growled, "Knife-eared witch, speak or die slowly."

The Eldar spat back, "I die first."

It seemed her mind was made up so Ferrac sighed resignedly, "As you wish."

Ferrac moved his arm laterally, holding the Eldar out over the drop. The female's eyes went wide as she realised what he was going to do and her hands beat feebly on his armoured limb. It was futile though, she was powerless to resist as Ferrac dangled her over nothingness, then opened his hand. The Eldar's mouth went wide in denial and her eyes screamed in terror but then she was gone, falling away into the dark below. Her brief scream faded as Ferrac flexed his fingers and lowered his arm, silently counting under his breath.

There was heavy footfall behind him as Brother Seyda closed, a Burst-lance held in both hands as he said, "Battle-Captain, we…."

"Wait," Ferrac said still counting until he heard a soft thump, "Huh, given local gravity that's fifty metres, more than enough to finish her off. What did you want?"

Seyda replied, "We have finished off these enemies, we need to relocate before more come."

"Agreed," Ferrac said, "Radfal, pack up the projector, we're moving out."

On a lower beam Brother Radfal slung his Bile-flamer and bent over the Frost-field projector. They had used its unique mechanism to good effect several times already and had taken Eldar hunting parties by surprise. Across the Apophis the Amber Vipers had left a trail of slain Eldar, a testament to the Space Marine's fury. Ferrac had lost count of how many they had slaughtered but he knew the number was considerable. The Eldar were not a foe that enjoyed inexhaustible numbers, surely the death toll must be weakening them significantly.

Ferrac strode to meet Radfal as he said, "We are doing well, so long as we can keep up these ambushes we can defeat them in detail."

Seyda followed him saying, "At this rate we will kill them all."

Ferrac concurred, "Fewer knife-ears in the galaxy is always a good thing. The other teams report similar successes."

Seyda mused, "Once we defeat these hunters, what then? Shall we return to the surface and try to contact the Chapter?"

Ferrac grunted, "One problem at a time, first we have to kill the remaining foes."

The pair had nearly reached Radfal and were about to drop onto his level when there was a sudden rush of noise. Ferrac's eyes snapped to the floor and he saw one of the large openings into the chamber filled with jerking lights, cast by approaching lamps. The sound of many claws striking metal rang forth and Ferrac realised the Eldar had found them; the hunters were converging on their location in great number.

Radfal lifted his Bile-flamer and stood over the projector as he cried, "They've found us!"

Seyda gasped, "We have to fall back."

"Too late," Ferrac snapped then opened his vox to cry, "All Brothers, converge on the Warp Drive. We are about to be overrun."

He stepped off the beam and dropped ten metres, landing with a thud on the lower beam. He ran for Radfal's position and dove inside the protective aura of the bulky device at his feet. An eerie sense of coldness passed over him, but he was moving slowly enough not to be harmed by its molecule-slowing effect. Even as he did so scores of Eldar poured into the Warp Drive chamber, riding their beasts at a fast gallop. First came bounding two-legged beasts, followed by tusked quadrupeds and finally one of those shelled animals, bearing a missile launcher on its back. The Eldar saw the trio standing forty metres above their heads and scores of bows rose high to unleash a flurry of arrows.

"Stand fast!", Ferrac barked as a hail of shafts came at him, their sharp thorns seeking to end his life. Yet when they encountered the barrier of the Frost-field they were caught by its eldritch effects, flash-freezing in mid-air and becoming brittle and weak. Ferrac felt a pattering of shattering splinters cracking against his front, harmlessly bouncing off the Ceramite and barely scratching the paint. If the Eldar were flummoxed by this unusual protection they gave no sign of it for the missile launcher swung upwards and unleashed a volley. Ferrac's stomach flipped as micro-missiles screeched across the distance but he refused to move an inch, forced to trust to the mythical sciences of the ancients. The missiles hit the barrier at supersonic velocity and were drained of molecular energy, freezing in an instant. The missiles explosive warheads were rendered inert but they retained their kinetic force and slammed into him, peppering his body with frozen chunks. Ferrac was forced to take a step back as the impacts rang off him but he pushed into the impacts, keeping his balance.

From within the protective envelope, Seyda laughed, "They can't touch us!"

Yet Ferrac gripped his axe-rake tighter as he growled, "Yes they can."

The Eldar below may not have been able to shoot the Astartes but they were not daunted. They veered off, heading for the access ramps that led up to the beam the Amber Vipers were standing upon. Ferrac saw the Eldar splitting up, intending to rise up both sides and catch the Amber Vipers in a pincer move. He glanced upwards and considered for a second using their jump packs to rise higher but that would only buy them a minute or two more, the Eldar had brought enough force to run them down and if the Astartes left the protective confines of the Frost-field they could be shot down with impunity. Resigned to the fight Ferrac barked, "Radfal, block their advance to the left."

Radfal was hurriedly screwing a fresh canister of toxic chemicals into his Bile-flamer and growled, "Let them come, I have a warm welcome ready for them."

Ferrac faced the other way and commanded, "Seyda, stand with me, nothing gets past us."

Seyda held his Burst-lance ready as he proclaimed, "No Xenos shall escape my wrath."

Ferrac saw the fastest Eldar had crested the ramp and were pouring along the beam. It was just narrow enough for them to be forced to come two-by-two, their bipedal animals bounding forward and their long lances held ready. Further back the larger animals fought to get onto the ramps. The Xenos were closing fast but as they advanced Radfal triggered his Bile-flamer, sending a plume of caustic liquid straight into their faces. Toxic sludge hit the nearest, covering them in corrosive chemicals that burned like acid. The Xenos screamed and flailed at their burning bodies as their mounts roared in agony, bucking hard as their scales were violated by noxious filth. The mounts went wild, bucking and flailing until they lost their footing and tumbled from the sides of the beam, falling to their deaths below. Radfal grimly fired again and again, coating the beam in a swamp of lethal vitriol, denying them access. So long as his canister held out he could block one approach entirely.

Unfortunately in the other direction the Eldar were unimpeded and they galloped into range, lances lowered to strike. Ferrac saw the fanged snouts and long tails of the beasts, he saw their rider's elegant grace and lethal weapons and he knew this would be as tough a fight as he had ever known. They passed through the Frost-field and were chilled by its effects, but were yet slow enough to be unharmed as they dove upon the waiting Astartes. A glittering lance point come at Ferrac and he was forced to duck to avoid being speared through the neck. The rider reacted with blinding speed and twisted the point about, managing to catch Ferrac's left shoulder pad. The energised point ripped through the Ceramite, shattering the linkages of the armour and tearing the pauldron clean off. Pain bit deep into Ferrac's muscles but the affront to his pride was greater, this scum had dishonoured his armour's spirit and sundered the Chapter's icon, this could not stand.

Ferrac swept his axe-rake across, trying to rip out the throat of the animal but it jerked aside and snapped at him, attempting to bite his head off. Ferrac snarled as he dodged the blow, only to have the lance come at him from above. Set upon from two directions he was outmatched, so instead threw himself forward, bodily slamming into the animal. The Eldar and its mount screeched in outrage as they fought to keep from being thrown from the beam but Ferrac redoubled his efforts, pushing his armour and muscles to the limit. The animal snapped vicious fangs at him but he forced his boots to move, pushing forward one inch then another. The rider screamed in outrage and stabbed its lance into his exposed shoulder. The pain was excruciating but he did not yield and after another second the mount lost its balance, toppling off the side to fall to its death.

Ferrac was left to see the effects of his act but was shocked to behold yet more Eldar pressing in. The warrior he had dispatched was merely the first of many and more pressed forward, jostling to get in close and finish him off. Seyda was fending them off as best he was able, spinning his lance about and cleaving limbs into bursts of flaming ash but he could not hold out for more than a few seconds. The numbers set against them were too great to deny and their protective barrier could not stop a slowly moving enemy.

Ferrac saw the battle turning against the Amber Vipers and threw caution to the wind. He jerked forward and yelled, "Cover me!"

Seyda was fending off a beast with green scales and a sneering rider as he cried, "What are you doing?!"

Ferrac hissed, "Something that probably won't work."

The Battle-Captain clamped his axe-rake to his hip and grabbed the Frost-field projector, lifting it with both hands. It was a bulky mechanism, too awkward to carry in combat but if Ferrac's instinct was right he could still use it as a weapon. Ferrac turned and sprinted a few paces forward, clearing a path with his bulk then he angled his body low and triggered his jump pack. A titanic boot kicked him in the rear as the turbines screamed, sending him flying along the length of the beam at terrific velocity. He ploughed through the first few Eldar, rising slightly as he did so, gaining velocity and seeing his idea play out. The Xenos had approached slowly enough to not trigger the field, but now he was the one travelling fast, swift enough to activate the fields' effect. Ferrac shot along the length of the beam and as he did so the Frost-field touched the molecules of the Eldar. The speed of his movement was so great that the device violently ripped energy from their atoms, flash-freezing enemies as he whipped by. Cold fierce as the void gripped the warm hearts of the Eldar, freezing them from the inside out and killing them in a heartbeat as Ferrac roared past.

In seconds Ferrac had travelled the length of the beam, leaving a trial of flash-frozen corpses in his wake. The beam now contained only dead Eldar and he hit the surface shoulder first, rolling to his feet and dropping the device. Behind him frozen corpses fell over like skittles, toppling from the beam in droves. Ferrac had killed a score of them, yet his battle was not over. Coming up the ramp were more enemies, among them the larger beasts with their tusks flashing and broad feet shaking the metal of the ramp. Ferrac saw a hundred enemies coming to claim his life and took up his axe-rake snarling, "Come on then, if I am to walk the road to hell this day then I shall make sure to have plenty of company."


	71. Chapter 71

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 71**

"Incoming!" Reddam yelled as his Vulture fled at top speed, "Can you hear me, enemy forces are right on my tail!"

Coluber voice came back, clear and confident, "Acknowledged we have your position and are prepared."

Reddam gripped the controls of 'Black Condor' as he and Glord had hurriedly named their new craft. The pair had joined the march of the Amber Vipers back into enemy territory, escorting the heavily laden Valkyrie transports. Barely had they started their mission when they had been ambushed, taken by surprise by a lone flying animal and its rider. Reddam and Glord had broken off to give chase, pursuing the enemy through the shadowy world under the treetops. Reddam had pushed his Vulture to the limit in his determination to swat this foe down, not only for the threat to the mission but because he was certain he recognised this one. It was the same Eldar with the glittering spear who had wounded him and Reddam had rejoiced at the prospect of revenge. Unfortunately just as they were closing to finish the foe off they had run straight into the massed ranks of the Xenos, coming for the Amber Vipers in great number.

Reddam pushed the throttle to the max and the howling engine behind his head slammed them through the sky. He waggled the steering column to avoid running straight into a tree but lamented every lost morsel of speed. From the gunner's seat Glord urged, "Faster, go faster!"

Reddam was fighting of every grain of acceleration as he muttered, "What do you think I'm doing?"

Glord barked in response, "You can't see what's behind us; I think every last Eldar on the planet is on our tail."

Reddam could well imagine it, his fleeting glance told him enough. The Eldar were famously a dying race but at this moment it didn't seem that way. Wings of every hue and shape had filled the sky, bearing warriors in leather and woad and wielding their crude weapons. They had flown with steady grace and the sure confidence of victory that told Reddam they intended to carry the day with one massive hammer blow. They must have scraped together every last one of their kind to present these sort of numbers and in his hearts Reddam knew this fight would spell victory or defeat for either side.

Reddam dodged right around a tree and as he did so a flurry of arrows slammed into its bark. He gritted his teeth for he had not known the foe was so close on his tail and weaved behind the tree, trying to use it for cover. Glord's gasp told him that the manoeuvre hadn't worked, the Eldar must be clinging to their rear, their flying beasts matching his Imperial built machine for grace and manoeuvrability. In a straight line he was sure he could outrun them, no animal could fly as fast as a jet-driven attack craft, but in this environment he couldn't fly straight for more than a few seconds, else he slam into a tree. So Reddam dodged and weaved, darting around the trees with bone-rattling jerks to the left and right, desperately trying to find his comrades.

They hurtled around one more tree and Reddam was stunned by the sight of dozens of grey-machines powering by, flying at a right angle to his course. His heart soared to see their massed guns waiting, but then he realised they were all pointing in his direction. Instinctively Reddam pushed Black Condor's nose down, power diving below their line of sight. A heartbeat later the massed machines opened fire, filling the sky with ordnance. From open doorways Heavy Bolters thundered, the surviving Huscarls venting their fury as the Amber Vipers themselves fired bolters one-handed, picking off targets with transhuman precision. Vulture attack craft spun about and blitzed multi-laser fire while the twin bastions that were Viper's Bite and Poisoned Fang unleashed hell, each Thunderhawk putting out more firepower than five other craft combined.

Reddam saw tracers screaming overhead but was more concerned with pulling out of their dive. The forest floor rose alarmingly fast in his eyes, threatening them with another crash but he pulled back on the controls and opened the throttle wide. The engine howled with fury as blasts of thrust arrested their descent and Reddam was able to pull out of his dive, turning and rising to rejoin the fray. He curved about and saw the sky above filled with flashing death. The Imperial machines had blown the first wave of attackers out of the air with massed firepower. Resulting in tumbling tatters of wings and bloody corpses spinning downwards, riders plummeting helplessly as they flailed and screamed. The opening salvo had been devastating but more Eldar were piling in, approaching from above and the sides. Reddam glimpsed a rainbow of wings dive among the orderly ranks of the Imperials and then it was the human's turn to start dying.

Reddam saw bodies falling from open doorways with arrows skewering them and whole machines torn apart as he cried, "Prepare to engage!"

"Come on alien scum," Glord snarled, "Show me your fury."

Black Condor roared as it flew into the fray and erupted with sprays of firepower. The multi-lasers flashed as they stabbed out and the nose-mounted heavy bolter hammered ceaselessly, churning the air with blazing tracers. Reddam saw a green-winged beast tumble away in a glory spray of vital fluids then a red one cry out as a bolt pierced its breast, two kills in the first moments, a good start. One of the larger beasts, with five riders, was cruising through the melee, almost casual in its stately advance. Reddam made it pay for its overconfidence, lining up a perfect shot for Glord to blow its wings off. The flying creature spun away, spilling its crew as its last roll took it to its death. Black Condor ploughed through the fray firing constantly but Reddam was forced to pull off as he flew too close to the Valkyries, nearly being hit by his own side's fire. He jerked his controls to fly higher and get above the combat but as he did so he saw a transport explode in mid-air, spraying black smoke and ash from ruptured engines. The cause of it was a silver beast, who bore a Bright Lance that still glowed with lethal power. Reddam lost sight of it as it dove into the fray and he snarled, "Fang-rot, it's a meatgrinder out here."

The vox crackled as Coluber commanded, "Hold the line! Nobody is to break formation, stay on course and keep firing!"

Reddam called out, "Lord, we are being overwhelmed, we must deploy our cargo before all is lost."

Coluber however responded, "Not yet, we must reach the densest part of the forest first. Hold them off a few more minutes, that's all we need."

Reddam complied, pushing once more into the fray. His vision filled with flaring contrails of ammunition and darting arrows. Spears and whips were everywhere, mixed with las fire and bolter rounds. Here a Valkyrie was beset by a larger beast, its crew jumping off its back with inhuman grace to land on the transport, they practically danced through its open doors, slaughtering all within before leaping back to their own creature. There a Vulture tore through a pair of animals, its rocket pods booming as it sprayed them with fire. To the left a Valkyrie broke formation to evade an oncoming Eldar, only to fly straight into a tree and explode in a dirty fireball. To the right the Thunderhawk Viper's Bite cruised forward, its heavy bolters rotating to unleash deadly accurate bursts of fire. A dappled grey beast with five riders made the mistake of flying directly before it, only to be struck down as the dorsal battle cannon discharged, blowing the beast into a drifting cloud of blood.

Reddam wove and dove among the madness, trying to avoid being struck down as Glord fired ceaselessly. Swirling madness and flashing death were in all directions and all Reddam could do was fly and evade, trusting to his brother's aim, then he saw it. Off to his right the Eldar with the glittering spear was harrying a transport, trying to close and strike its wing off. Reddam snarled, "There he is, Glord, target him."

Yet to his shock Glord cried, "Wait, look to the left!"

Reddam glanced to the left and saw the familiar silver animal looping about, banking through the melee to get into Viper's Bite rear arc. The glittering Bright Lance shone as it built in power and one direct hit to the engines could send it tumbling to its death, along with all on board, including Chapter Master Coluber. For an instant Reddam was frozen in indecision, to the right lay the one who had wounded him and the prospect of revenge burned his hearts. To the left was a threat to his Master and Chapter and his head told him he had to intervene or watch his kin die. Two conflicting impulses warred within him, personal revenge or his duty to his Brothers. Reddam's hands were still as his heart and mind warred for supremacy, each demanding he act. But then he saw the back of Glord's head starting to turn in query and he remembered all that the Amber Viper had done in the name of Brotherhood, risking his life for his comrade. What was Reddam's revenge set against the bonds of Brotherhood? Always he had proclaimed loyalty to each other and now it was his turn he could no more abandon that creed than a rock could roll up a hill.

Instantly Reddam veered left, angling for the silver beast as he cried, "Take it down!"

"I need a moment," Glord replied as he peered through his aiming eyepiece.

"You've got five seconds until it fires," Reddam snarled.

Reddam saw the Eldar closing upon Viper's Bite and knew they were in a race against time. He pushed the engine to its very limit and was crushed by the acceleration. Four seconds left and the Bright Lance rose, targeting the Thunderhawk's engines while Reddam felt his lips being pulled back by sheer velocity as they fought to overtake it. Three seconds left and the Eldar gunner reached for the handle and all Reddam could do was hold on and claw for more speed. Two seconds left and the Xenos pulled the trigger and still Reddam was too far away. One second and the lance shone with building power, preparing to unleash a blast that would tear the Thunderhawk's engines off and end the Chapter Master's life, but in that instant Glord fired.

Searing multi-laser fire crossed the distance, moving at light speed. The energy blasts slammed into the broad back of the animal, punching into its spine and neck. The beast convulsed in agony and as it did so the Bright Lance bucked wildly, sending its shot high into the treetops above. The las-fire walked up the spine of the animal and caught a finely dressed rider, clearly a superior officer of some sort. The Las-blast struck her back and punched through, incinerating her heart in one shot. Together rider and mount dropped away, dead already as they began their final descent to the ground.

Reddam broke off as he gasped, "We did it!"

Glord breathed, "Just in time, look."

Reddam lifted his eyes and saw the transports around him opening their back doors, revealing large canisters within. The Eldar went frantic as they launched one last desperate effort to overrun the Imperials but it was too late. Gas-masked men in rubberised suits took up hoses with broad nozzles, then as one they ejected long streams of black gas into the air. The resulting cloud was heavy and thick, cloying in nature and it moved through the air like an oil-slick on water. Many Eldar were caught in the unexpected plumes and they fell into paroxysms of coughing fits, unable to breathe as their throats closed. The noxious mixture had been brewed by Shrios and it coated their lungs with poisonous spores, multiplying in their respiratory tracks at a rate no normal disease should be capable of. The Eldar broke ranks and flew in all directions, leaderless and scattered by the noxious clouds.

Reddam was forced to push more power into his engine lest he be caught in the cloud, and he swiftly rose above the sooty vapours. He didn't know what effect it would have on his engine intakes but he wasn't willing to find out. He rose over the morass and saw the enemy fleeing but that was only the start. The cloud had reached the nearest trees and its effects on them were even more pronounced. The spores touched the material of the wood and burrowed into it, spreading over the surface in moments. Reddam's jaw fell as the diseased spores spread like wildfire, running over the surface in great black veins of mould that chewed the wood apart as it went. The rate of growth was astonishing, increasing geometrically second by second. He couldn't believe what he was seeing and was forced to remind himself he wasn't watching a sped-up pict-reel.

Glord gasped, "Throne, how can it do that?!"

Reddam gulped, "Shrios said the mould spores were mutated by the Warp, but I didn't understand what he meant."

"Warp-taint," Glord breathed, "It has to be warp-taint, nothing else could do that."

Reddam couldn't argue as the black veins reached the ground below and began spreading out through the underbrush, chewing through vegetation out in all directions. Then it sank its claws into trees as yet unaffected and began climbing up their columns. It moved like a living thing, a black octopus with writhing tentacles and a rapacious hunger. Already the first trees affected were sagging, losing their structural integrity as the rot ate them alive. Even as Reddam watched the nearest collapsed in on itself, imploding like a demolished hab-block. Its own weight spelt its doom and it disappeared into a burst of black spores and rotting splinters, leaving the sky above exposed. Reddam should have been celebrating but somehow he felt he was watching something magnificent dying. An eternal and timeless wonder had been ended and somehow that set Reddam's teeth on edge.

Glord must have felt the same thing for he said, "It's dying, the whole forest is dying."

Reddam swallowed as he said, "It had to be so. Everything on this world was an enemy, remember that."

Glord cast his eyes about and said, "Its spreading fast and I'm not sure we can fly through this. We can't linger on this planet if we ever intend to leave."

"We can't leave yet," Reddam stated flatly, "We have to rescue Battle-Captain Ferrac first. Come on, let's get moving."


	72. Chapter 72

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 72**

His Drake tore through the fray, carrying him into the mad violence of war. Everywhere he looked the Kinbands of Athelling gave battle to the invaders, meeting their brutish machines with the superior skill and grace of the Eldar. Elhyn had followed his hunter back to the main mass of the Mon-Keigh force and now his kin wrought death and destruction freely. The scions of a race ancient before these savages' ancestors had first stood upright tore through the fray, cutting down enemies left and right. Elhyn gloried in the exhilaration of battle, feeling the surging blood pounding through his veins and the depthless passions of his kind grip him hard. For a fleeting instant he could understand the Craftworlder's wariness of their passions, for it was exhilarating indeed, but in this instant he didn't care.

His exuberant mood was cut short as he spied a Kraken succumb to one of the fleeter enemy machines. A salvo of rockets tore the noble steed apart and sent its crew hurtling to their deaths. The sight shocked Elhyn from his delirium and forced him to focus. Many Mon-Keigh were dying but just as many Eldar were being snuffed out in return, precious lives his people could not afford to lose. Unless something tipped the balance victory for his people may prove as bitter as defeat. Elhyn forced his mind to focus and gripped Wrymfang tight as he urged, "Take me to them."

Ilfavor cawed in anger as he dove into the midst of the invader's formation. He passed between two transports, so close that his wingtips barely avoided being snarled as he did so Elhyn struck. Wyrmfang flashed and one of the Transports went into a spin, its engine spewing flames as it sank away. The other piled on speed and tried to evade but Ilfavor banked about, reversing course to give chase. Together they tore after the fleeing machine and Elhyn's lips drew back as he anticipated the kill. For a primitive the pilot was vexingly good, jerking his cumbersome machine to and fro as he sought to escape. The passengers must have been left violently sick by the extreme manoeuvres but it succeeded in keeping Elhyn at bay. He snarled in frustration as he saw it was going to get away and urged Ilfavor to close. The drake responded by flapping his wings in great beats, surging them forward. Inch by inch the distance shrank as the Mon-Keigh frantically sought to evade but it was futile. Elhyn was drawing nearer with every second and in moments would be in a position to strike. He lifted Wrymfang and held its point forward, eager to lop off the machine's wings and send it spinning to its doom but at the last possible second he saw the impossible occur.

Through the swirling bedlam and flashing tracers Elhyn saw his mother closing on the largest invader machine, her gunner bringing the Bright Lance to bear. It was a bold and confident strike, one that might just tip the balance of the battle to the Kinbands but what Celasia had not seen was the smaller enemy machine gunning for her rear. Elhyn gasped as he forgot his prey and through the communion Ilfavor shared the distress. Instantly the pair turned to intercept the attacker, the sheer turn nearly wrenching Elhyn from his perch. Frantic desperation filled his heart as he sought to prevent disaster unfold but a cold whisper in his mind told him it was too late, they were too far away and the enemy was committed to the attack run.

Time seemed to slow down as Elhyn watched the laser weapons stab out, cutting the Drake apart at the very moment of victory. The regal Drake shrieked as its spine was broken, torn apart by volleys of deadly energy and the Bright Lance misfired, sending its fury out into nothingness. Denial whelmed up in Elhyn and he urged his partner for more speed, foolishly believing he could snatch his mother from the jaws of calamity but it was impossible. A heartbeat later a roving las blast caught the Dynast square in the back and blew her heart out, spearing her through the chest with one shot that took her from Elhyn forever.

"No!" Elhyn screamed as the Dynast dropped away, his mother's corpse lost to his sight as the collapsing wings of her mount wrapped her like a shroud. Elhyn physically pushed Ilfavor to chase her vanishing body, leaving the battle in his wake. Frenziedly he forced his mount to dive, crushing the Drake's will with a brutal command. He knew he was hurting his friend but cared not; his desperate need to reach his mother consumed him. Her spirit stone must still be intact, he told himself, if he could save that he could snatch some part of her from the jaws of death. The alternative was too horrible to consider, if her spirit stone had been destroyed in the blast that killed her then Celasia' soul would be forfeit to the hungry Gods of Chaos. She Who Thirsts craved the delectable souls of the elder above all and only the safeguards of Infinity Circuits and World Spirits held her at bay.

Elhyn was diving hard but still too slow and he saw the Dynast's Drake hit the forest floor. Elhyn would have followed her to his grave but Ilfavor refused, bucking against the will holding his mind he forced his wings to spread out and pulled out of his dive, coasting over the crash site. "Land!" Elhyn cried, "We must land!"

But Ilfavor cawed, "Danger, danger above!"

Elhyn's head snapped upwards and he saw a nightmare unfold. A thick cloying blackness was spewing out of the back of the Mon-Keigh machines. A putrid, diseased miasma that filled the air with the promise of decay. The sight of it was vile but to his psychic senses, limited as they were, the cloud hid a vile malevolence. There was something fundamentally wrong with the cloud, a sickness beyond the material realm that carried with it the stench of the Warp. The Mon-keigh couldn't possibly understand what horror they had unleashed, else they would never have even considered it, the filth of Chaos had been carried to Athelling and was now free to take whatever it wanted.

Even as he watched the cloud wrapped its tendrils around the nearest trees and began its calamitous work. The Everforest shrieked as the corruption of Chaos was introduced into its vital arteries, spreading through its body like a cancer. Black veins of rot shot down the lengths of the trunks, growing at an astonishing rate. The Mon-Keigh may have thought this remarkable but they had no way to grasp the nature of the threat. The Everforest pulsed with psychic power, every tree, every blade of grass and small animal was bound into its otherworldly harmony and the rot feasted on that potential like a glutton. Trees sagged and groaned as their life-forces were consumed, feeding more fuel into the corruption. Elhyn was aghast as his home was violated, its essence doomed by ignorant savages. Small animals fled across the forest floor, racing to get away but too slowly as the black veins overran them and poured its vile essence into their innocent forms.

Ilfavor kept a good distance from the airborne spores but Elhyn saw it all unfold. Then he glanced at Wyrmfang and his heart went cold. The spear was bound into the life-force of the World Spirit, drawing its lethal power from that depthless spring. But now its green light was stained by black motes, a filthy spoor akin to the rot touching the trees. The spear reflected the vitality of Athelling and so too its fall. The rot was in the spear and it was growing. As the crystal deformed and the wooden shaft began to flower with mould Elhyn threw the spear from his hand, casting it away before it could infect him too. Wyrmfang sank out of sight, lost to him forevermore and never to be found again.

Elhyn had no time to mourn for suddenly Panthiro dropped to fly beside him crying, "Elhyn, what do we do?!"

Elhyn shook his head and barked, "I don't know!"

Panthiro yelled, "The Dynast is lost, you inherit the rule now. Our people need direction!"

Elhyn could barely understand what he was saying, how could anyone be thinking of rulership in this disaster. He was about to rebuke his friend but before he could speak a terrible groan filled the air. Elhyn's jaw fell as he saw a mighty tree collapsing, riddled through with rot and sagging into itself. The kilometre high bough fell straight down, giving birth to a fog of splinters and spores and leaving the achingly bright sky exposed. The tragedy would have drowned his spirit in woe, were it not already consumed with agony.

As the tree fell every Eldar dropped their weapons and slammed their hands to their heads in suffering. Their minds were being violated by an anguished scream of terror, heard not with their ears but with their psychic senses. It was the Song of Athelling, the harmony of the World Spirit falling into discord and alarum. The Everforest was inextricably bound to the Song of Athelling and as it was violated so too did the World Spirit break apart, its arcane defences and wards shattering in response. It was like a great dam breaking open, spilling out torrents of water once held safely behind its banks.

Elhyn screamed as he sensed a terrible rent torn into the World Spirit, a hungry whirlpool of collapsing matrixes that sucked in everything it found. The souls of his ancestors, kept safe for millennia, were snatched from their peaceful slumber, pouring out of the breach to drop into the raw Warp. Elhyn could feel them tumbling past him, crying in fear and pleading for aid he could not offer. Hundreds, thousands then tens of thousands of souls were lost in moments, any soul lingering too close to the region being sucked out. Elhyn couldn't grasp the scale of the calamity, then She came.

From the roiling depths of the warp a laugh arose, cruel and hungry and malevolent, the sound of the eternal enemy of the Eldar opening her maw to feast. She Who Thirsts, the Chaos God Slaanesh, came to claim her due, her jaws scooping up the souls of all those who had been taken and swallowing them whole. Thousands of years of safety had been undone, the souls of the ancestors forfeit to the doom that the Eldar race had never escaped.

Elhyn couldn't begin to fathom their pain and woe and his mind forced itself blank at the very idea, lest be sanity be lost. He forced his mind to the physical and he saw the Mon-Keigh powering away, blind to the damage they had done. The primitive apes would never comprehend the scale of the disaster they had unleashed, for they would never see beauty they had so thoughtlessly trampled. Athelling would never be the same; even if some part of it managed to survive their losses would mar the hearts of the Kinbands forever.

Elhyn forced himself to cry, "Panthiro, we must flee!"

Panthiro looked to be in agony but he yelled, "How, where?!"

"Away!" Elhyn shouted, "Spread the word, we must flee. We must get away from this decay before it spreads."

Panthiro looked aghast as he said, "But our lands."

"Are already lost!" Elhyn roared, "If we have any hope of saving a part of Athelling we have to get ahead of this. Tell our people to flee and pray to the dead God Asuryan that this rot can be stopped before it takes the whole planet."

Panthiro turned to fly away, calling out to the distressed survivors to take their Drakes and Kraken and flee. Elhyn had time for one last glance at the Mon-Keigh, still pushing for the Vale of Midnight Tears. He spat one final curse, "May Chaos take your accursed Empire and may the Four gnaw upon your bones." Then he steered Ilfavor away, conceding the field and leaving the apes to the ruin they had made.


	73. Chapter 73

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 73**

The ramp shook with the stomp of the approaching foes, packed ranks of Eldar charging towards the embattled defenders. They came on their looming mounts, the tusked beasts in front, followed by a single example of the shelled creatures. Their riders were eager for the kill, their lips drawn back in vicious grins as they anticipated the bloodshed to come. Against them stood Ferrac, all alone at the top of the ramp. The Battle-Captain's back blazed with heat from his impromptu manoeuvre and the Frost-field projector glowed softly at his feet but it couldn't help him. He was one Marine set against scores of foes and he knew death had found him at last. He welcomed it, this was a battle such as songs were sung of, human courage and resolution set against impossible odds, what more could any Space Marine ask for?

In the corner of his eye he saw Seyda running forward, Burst-lance held low as he tried to intervene but it was too late. Ferrac had travelled far along the beam and the enemy was seconds away from engaging. Ferrac did not flinch from their approach, merely lifting his Axe-rake vertically before his eyes and asking its spirit for one last effort, to stay true to the last. With the seconds left to contact Ferrac braced himself and intoned a final benediction, "Blessed be the defenders of Mankind. Those who fight in the name of the Emperor and die for His glory shall rest eternal within His grace."

The first animal crested the ridge, passing through the Frost-field without more than a shiver. Its maw opened wide to roar a hot snarl of bestial anger and its rider lashed out with a spear intended to pierce Ferrac's heart, but the Battle-Captain had already moved. As the ivory tusks came at him Ferrac leapt high, pushing off the ramp in one great bound. The tusks swept by under his boots and the spear missed his body entirely as Ferrac planted one great boot into the beast's face and bounded higher. The pair seemed dumbstruck by his move and the Eldar barely had time to gasp before the axe-rake swung wide and its roaring chainteeth took his head off. Ferrac landed on the back of the beast's head but was nearly thrown from his feet as it bucked wild, wailing lament at the death of its rider. Ferrac staggered as he tried to keep his feet but his hand was already reversing his grip on his weapon and then he slammed the sharp point on the other side into the point where the head met the neck. The sharpened wedge of metal cleaved through vertebra with ease and severed the spinal column, and the animal flopped helplessly as its body was cut off from its brain.

Ferrac hit the ramp hard as the animal sagged, only to be smashed in the chest by another tusked beast. The huge head slammed into him and knocked him down, causing him to fall to the metal surface. Instantly a huge foot pounded down an inch from his head, the rider high above urging his beast to crush Ferrac under its enormous weight. Ferrac desperately rolled aside but was encumbered by the weight of his jump pack and the next stomp caught him a glancing blow on his helm, cracking the ceramite faceplate in many places. His head was snapped back by the force of it and his vision crazed as the autosenses fought to stay functional yet he felt the cool kiss of air tickle his cheekbones and knew his helm's integrity was violated.

The force of the impact sent him sprawling onto his chest with his axe-rake pinned underneath him. He tried to rise but Ferrac was trapped by the weight of the mount above him, its furry belly pressing into his back and preventing him from rising. Ferrac felt desperation creeping into his soul, he was trapped, unable to free his weapon and unable to roll free. He tried to crawl to freedom but in every direction huge feet slammed down repeatedly, the animal trying to crush him with its bulk as it roared with frustrated ire. The Battle-Captain knew he was in a bad state, pinned, unable to fight or flee. It was only a matter of time until the animal thought to move clear, leaving him exposed for a killing blow. Worse than that it might decide to simply sit on him, an inglorious end, one unworthy of an Astartes. Unfortunately in his trapped state he could not free his weapon or stand up, so he did the only thing he could; he triggered his jump pack.

The turbines over his shoulders screamed as they sucked in air and spewed forth searing jets of fire. Ferrac was slammed into the floor as the thrust tried to snap his bones and were he a mortal his spine would have shattered. Even genhanced as he was he felt like a mountain was sitting on his back, pressing him hard into the metal surface. In the confined space the heat was incredible, flames licking at the backs of his legs and spreading over his shoulders. Even being inside a suit designed to withstand the extreme cold and heat of space it was like being in a painter's vision of hell. Then the flames found the cracks in his faceplate and poured in. Ferrac cried aloud as licking tongues of flame kissed his cheekbones and forehead, searing the skin like a blowtorch. The pain was excruciating and for an instant he dreaded that the fire would claim his eyes too, but he held on, for his suffering was for a purpose.

Above his head the beast screamed as it was burned alive, licking flames clawing into its belly. Flesh seared and withered in the inferno, cooking its innards and charring them to sooty grizzle. The flames reached high around its flanks and engulfed the rider's lower half, causing the Eldar to scream in pain. The pair of them trashed and stomped about, threatening to crush Ferrac without even meaning to, but then the wild convulsions took it too close to the edge and it fell away, toppling off the side of the ramp as flames trailed behind it.

Ferrac was left exposed and vulnerable as his thrusters shut off. He felt every inch of his body aching and the temptation to lay still and recover was an anchor around his spirit. The pain, the weariness and the damage to his face dragged on his spirit, all he wanted to do was lay there, even if it meant his death. Yet Ferrac was no mewling mortal, he was Astartes, the product of the most brutal and demanding training regime mankind had ever devised, honed by hypno-indoctrination and hammered on the anvil of war. He had lived through the death of one Chapter and forged a new one with his own hands. His will was as hard as diamond and his ardour keen as a razor's edge. Ferrac forced his body to rise, overriding the protests of his battered form. He climbed to his feet; fully expecting to be overrun in a moment, yet to his shock the Eldar did not come at him, distracted by something else. It took painfully long seconds for him to realise his ears were being hammered by repeated firing and his eyes filling with the red flashes of energy weapons. The Eldar were being fired at from below, those who had mounted the ramp caught in the flank by a salvo coming in at an oblique angle.

Ferrac's eyes swivelled to one side and he beheld the glorious sight of reinforcements. Standing in an entranceway were Kerubim, Kregulf, Vardat and the robot Bane. They were laying down repeated blasts of fire. Kregulf fired his Fission-blaster repeatedly, blasting the Eldar force with radioactive fallout, while Kerubim wielded an energy rifle that disintegrated its targets, leaving behind flashing afterimages. Bane was hammering away with its rotor cannons, sweeping the Eldar and their animals with flurries of bullets. Vardat stood in the doorway with a Burst-lance held ready to defend against any counter-attack. The Xenos scum were unprepared for a flanking attack and they milled in confusion, desperately trying to turn about and get off the ramp but they were pinned in by their own bulk, their mounts too cumbersome to turn quickly.

Ferrac's vox crackled and he heard Kregulf call, "Looks like we got here just in time."

Ferrac could only gasp, "Good timing."

Kregulf responded, "Hold back while we pick them off."

Ferrac heard Seyda finally reach his position and the Battle-Captain snarled, "Negative, I'm going in. Lay down suppressing fire."

Kregulf started, "But the blast-zone, you're too close."

"Then shoot well," Ferrac snarled, "I want blood."

With that Ferrac threw himself at the reeling Eldar, Seyda at his side. The axe-rake rose and fell, slicing deeply into flanks and legs while the Burst-lance cleaved off limbs, leaving behind flaring plumes of ash. The Eldar had no idea what hit them, unable to respond as the pair waded into the midst of them and all the while red and gold blasts tore at them, as bullets punched them from their perches. Ferrac felt the pain of his injuries but forced it aside as he sliced and hacked and tore with his weapon. Harder to ignore was the burnt ruin of his face, itching as rad-particles crept through his cracked faceplate. He knew the fallout of the Fission-blaster would be scarring his burned flesh even further, causing Emperor only knew what kind of permanent damage, but he cared not. The glorious slaughter filled his hearts with righteous joy as his zeal drove him into the midst of the enemy.

The Eldar died in droves to the Amber Vipers, falling before the charge of the Battle-Captain. Yet there was one who resisted. The large shelled creature, now bereft of riders, was thrashing in the midst of the frantic scrum, knocking aside the other beasts with mad cries of pain and distress. It was directionless but in its frenzied bucking completely blocked Ferrac's path. The Battle-Captain ran up to its side and swept his axe-rake over its shell but it skittered off, doing no harm. Seyda swept his Burst-lance about but astonishingly it made no impression either, the beast's hide impervious to his blow.

"Fang-rot," Seyda spat, "What's it made of? Nothing can penetrate that."

Yet Ferrac snarled, "I can do it."

He clamped his axe-rake to his hip and his right hand grabbed a knife from his belt. It was the small gas-compression knife he had taken from the armoury, its bulky handle fitting his grip perfectly. Ferrac took up the knife and looked for a weak spot and he saw it as the beast's head swept about. The huge skull was heavily reinforced but its eyes were wide open, all too soft and vulnerable. The head came at him like a wrecking ball and Ferrac knew he had to time this perfectly else he would be killed in the collision. For a single heart-stopping moment he was still, but then he moved, thrusting his knife right into the oncoming eye.

The knifepoint penetrated the eye and there was a spray of disgusting optical fluid that coated his breastplate. His arm sank up to the elbow in the gooey interior but before the animal could even scream in pain he triggered the rune on the hilt. The knife responded by blowing out a burst of compressed gas, expanding within the interior of the skull with explosive force. Retina and nerves were obliterated and the skull cracked apart from within, yet the true damage came from what was laced into that gas. In a small chamber in the hilt was a store of acid, milked from Ferrac's own Betcher's Gland and droplets of it were carried with the spray of gas, driving straight into the beast's braincase. The shelled creature froze as it neurons were destroyed by acid, eaten apart in seconds. It was doubtful it even knew it was dead before it sagged down, sucking at Ferrac's arm as it fell away.

The Battle-Captain drew back his hand and shook optical jelly from his hand as he muttered, "This will never wash off."

Besides him Seyda gasped, "You killed it with one blow, truly the Emperor was with you this day."

Ferrac picked a bit of gristle off his knife and said, "That's all well and good, but what's happened to the enemy?"

Everywhere the Eldar were fleeing, the death of their mightiest champions too much for them to bear. They ran for the dark entrances to the Warp Drive, turning their back and running way as fast as their mounts could take them. They were chased by roving blasts of energy but few were cut down, the rest fled for their lives and did not look back as they left the Astartes among the piles of slain Xenos.

Ferrac sagged as he felt the pain of his wounds, his back was burning from excess heat and his limbs were cold. Worse was that he could no longer feel his face, but he gave no consideration to that, he was alive and that was enough. He saw Kregulf and Kerubim and Vardat closing, the robot Bane close on their heels and Kregulf called out, "Hail, Battle-Captain, you won!"

Ferrac shook his head and said, "We won."

Kregulf nodded and said, "It was an honour to serve, I am ashamed I play any part in casting doubt on the Chapter's practices."

Ferrac allowed, "I will tell Coluber of this, it may go some way to mollifying your punishment. But what is Kerubim staring at?"

The Tech-adept was indeed staring at him, even under a helm his horror was evident as he whispered, "Battle-Captain… your face."

Ferrac waved aside the concern as he said, "Can wait, we need to move. The Eldar are broken, its time to head back to the surface and contact the Chapter. We need to round up Berio and Paneyr and make our way out. Come on, there's no time to waste gawping."

With that Ferrac led the Amber Vipers out of the battlefield field, leaving behind a wasteland of death and destruction as a testament to his wrath.


	74. Chapter 74

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 74**

Saffor Teliday was worried. He paced up and down in his confinement, the small cave carved into the heart of a vast tree. Normally he would have paused to admire the elegant skill that had gone into making this place, the wood shaped without use of chisel or plane. The Rogue Trader knew of worlds where decadent nobles would pay a fortune for items crafted with such sublime skill, yet today his concerns were far more immediate. Saffor had been trapped in this prison for days, with no one to speak to and no idea how the war progressed. He hadn't seen anything since he had been shoved back into this place, save for the guards outside his door and the occasional bowl of fruit and nuts they left for him.

Saffor was in a messed state, his fine clothes were tattered and his boots were scuffed. The brooches on his attire were falling off and his beard had progressed past stubble. His hands played with a few rings on his fingers but his movements betrayed his nervousness. He was under no illusions of how precarious his situation was. The Eldar had promised him a fortune for his information but he knew the promises of a ruler wasn't worth the paper they were written on. He had seen too many Planetary Governors, Imperial potentates and merchant princes conveniently forget their munificent promises the second they felt their position secure. Whether for furthering their agenda, keeping their fortunes or simply because they knew there was nothing that could hold them to their word, the powerful were fickle allies. Saffor himself had broken his fair share of deals when it suited him, he hadn't gotten rich by spending money he didn't need to, and he was keenly aware his usefulness to his captors would be over the second the Space Marines were dead. No, Saffor fully expected the Eldar to kill him but he didn't intend to wait around that long.

Once more Saffor glanced at his guards, two Eldar warriors standing aloof outside his door. For days they had been lurking, always present when he slept or woke. He wasn't sure if they ever slept, some species didn't, but he was sure they were watching him keenly. One of them was tall even by their standards, dressed in leather and twine with a thorn-tipped spear. He was wary and hostile, probably waiting for the order to execute the prisoner. The other was a young female, wearing furs of some sleek animal. Normally a lithe body like hers would have caught Saffor's eye but there was a coldness in her eyes that set his hackles rising and her hands never drifted far from the Shuriken pistols tucked in her belt: Saffor's pistols. This one was more trouble than she was worth and Saffor wouldn't have gone near her if someone paid him.

Saffor had spent the last few days trying to figure out how to get past them but met no success. They were wary and on guard at all times, never slacking off. Even if he could get past them, he was in the middle of an alien village, hundreds of metres off the ground and surrounded by unknown forests. He had ways of getting around those problems but it would avail him nothing if he died in the process, a fate he dearly wished to avoid. Not for the first time he wished the Space Marines would come to rescue him but he knew that wasn't going to happen. The Amber Vipers had left him to rot. Selling them out had been a small and petty revenge but satisfying in its own way, they had made their allegiance clear and he owed them nothing. Still Saffor wasn't one to let things like betrayal and revenge define his actions, that was a quick way to get dead. So he chewed on his problems, as he toyed with the rings on his fingers and paced.

Saffor was distracted from his brooding as a scream tore through the air. His head snapped about and he saw a strange calamity unfolding. Beyond his guards the village of the Eldar held a few elderly and young souls, those too feeble to go forth and fight. They had been going about their activities as normal but amazingly all them were doubled over in pain, gripping their heads as if suffering terrible migraines. Even his guards had fallen to their knees, dropping to all fours with rictus grins of pain. Saffor had no idea what was causing this strange behaviour but he recognised an opportunity when it presented itself.

Instantly Saffor was in motion, sprinting through the open doorway. His guards barely reacted as he dashed through and his boot lashed out, catching the bigger guard in the side of the head. Saffor was no Astartes but he was in peak condition and trained extensively every day. His kick sent the Eldar sprawling with pink Eldar blood flowing from his temple where Saffor had cracked his skull. Another kick crushed his windpipe and the Eldar collapsed, suffocating to death. The Rogue Trader spun about and saw the other guard trying to lift a pistol at him, her pained expression betraying the pain she was enduring. Her grip was unsteady but a Shuriken Pistol could put out enough rounds in a second to fill the air with razor-sharp death. Yet Saffor wasn't about to let her fire, not when his captors had left him with a weapon. Saffor's right hand rose and the heavy ring on his finger glowed for a moment, then it shot forth a single burst of las-fire. It was a digital weapon, a micro las-weapon concealed in harmless jewellery. Saffor's shot caught the female square in the chest and punched through, charring her heart to cinders. She keeled over with a surprised expression and dropped the pistol.

Saffor wasted not a moment to run over and relieve her of her weapons, feeling the warm touch of Wraithbone in his palms. He grinned at the familiar sensation, for now he stood a real chance of escape. He lifted his eyes and saw the Eldar starting to recover, a few individuals regaining their feet. Yet they seemed to have no interest in his escape, in fact they were fleeing. Young and old were racing to the edges of their village, calling out for their winged beasts to come snatch them up. They gave no thought to Saffor, concerned only with escaping. Saffor didn't know what was going on but he wasn't about to let this chance slip by. His left hand twitched and triggered his other ring and it began to blink with a small light. It was a distress-beacon, a tiny vox transmitter that would summon aid wherever he was.

Saffor knew in moments a rescue shuttle would be dispatched from his ship in orbit. He hadn't dared use it earlier, knowing the Eldar would kill him the second they spied his crew approaching, but now they didn't have the means to stop him. Saffor looked about and saw a rising staircase beyond the dead female, leading to higher elevations. He made to step over the corpse but then spied a glittering jewel on the female's chest, one of those gems Eldar seemed to love. Saffor paused for a moment then decided he was owed compensation and relieved both bodies of their jewels. The warm stones pulsed in his grip and he felt an odd sense of confusion and fear run through him as he touched them, but only he shoved the gems into a pocket and forgot the odd shiver.

Saffor hastily ran up the stairs, boots gripping the textured wood of the branches as he passed several levels. Everywhere he looked Eldar were fleeing, running away from some horror he had not seen. He didn't know what was causing this but he was sure it was bad for his health and determined to get out as quickly as he could. He rose another level but then froze as he saw the opening to the ruler's chambers. He had only seen them from afar but surely there must be something of worth within. He glanced at the stairs rising before him then at the chambers, then at the stairs again. Indecision warred within him but after everything he had been through he wasn't about to go home empty-handed and hastily dove inside.

He didn't know what he had expected, some lavish chamber filled with opulence and grandeur probably. The reality was rather disappointing, a threadbare room not much different from his prison, save for the additional furniture. But in one corner squatted the chest of riches promised to him. Saffor eagerly raced over and knelt as he ran his hands over the lid and muttered, "This will do."

There was a soft cough behind him and he spun about to see an Eldar standing in the door. It was the Treesinger Laegwen and she looked furious as she spat, "You treacherous Mon-Keigh!"

Saffor stayed kneeling as he said, "Don't make a scene, I don't want to fight you."

Laegwen's voice was shrill as she cried, "Look at what you've done! Your avarice and short-sightedness have ruined everything. I can feel the Everforest dying, the souls of our ancestors scream in my ears and the laughter of thirsting Gods shakes my bones. But you apes understand nothing of that; you can't even see that which you have destroyed!"

Saffor didn't follow a word of that and barked, "I am taking what I am owed and leaving."

"Greed and hate," Laegwen spat, "That's all your kind understand. We should have killed you on sight, a situation I can still remedy."

Laegwen's arms arose and her hair streamed with eldritch winds. She was summoning her psychic power, preparing some deadly spell to end the Rogue Trader. Her power was mighty and irresistible, unfortunately it was also slow and Saffor's draw was faster. His hands twitched and his pistols were in his grip as he feathered the triggers. Razor-sharp discs thrummed from the barrels, spinning madly as they cut the air apart and sliced into Laegwen. A hail of death diced the Treesinger and she collapsed bonelessly, crumpling in upon herself as she sagged to the ground.

Saffor didn't bother to check she was dead, he knew what the pistols could do to a body. Instead he stowed his pistols and grabbed the chest, then heaved it under one arm. He hurried to the door and peered out but saw nobody around. Judging it was safe he paused and relieved Laegwen's corpse of another of those glowing jewels, stowing it next to the ones from earlier. As he stood up he felt an odd trembling through his boots, like the tree was swaying in a strong breeze. That was odd, since he had arrived the kilometre high boughs had been impervious to everything and he didn't like the implications of the change. Especially since the remaining Eldar hadn't wasted a moment to flee.

Saffor hurried grabbed his treasure chest and set off at a dead sprint, climbing the stairs higher and higher. With every step the shivering under his boots grew worse, the whole tree shaking like a wounded animal. The branches of the other trees that made up the village were groaning, swaying to and fro and starting to crack under the strain. Whatever was causing this was getting worse and he knew it would soon claim everything, so he redoubled his pace and ran for all he was worth. Suddenly he crested the final stair and found himself on a broad platform, one set above the treetop canopy. The sky was startlingly blue after the shadows of the village and the sun was aching bright in his eyes. Yet nothing compared to the beautiful sight of an Aquila lander dropping towards him, wings streaming heat from re-entry.

Saffor waved his free arm wildly, trying to get the pilot's attention while the platform bucked under his boots, trying to throw him from his feet. Thankfully the beacon in his ring guided the pilot straight to him and the shuttle turned to present its rear door as it stood on a column of vector thrust. The pilot couldn't land on the swaying platform but he got close, opening the rear door as he did so. Saffor held up his hand before his eyes as downdraft slammed into him but he forced his boots to move and pushed forward trying to get near enough to jump. A burly man was hanging out of the hatch, holding out his hand and Saffor grabbed it gratefully, feeling himself be heaved aboard just as the platform rocked madly.

Saffor stumbled inside his shuttle and said, "Bless you; I'll make you a rich man for this."

As the hatch whined closed the crewman replied, "We can't stay, the whole forest is falling apart."

"Don't stay on my account," Saffor retorted, "Tell the pilot to get out of here."

The man rushed to the cockpit as Saffor slumped into an acceleration couch. A moment later G-forces pressed him down as the shuttle rose, climbing away from the dying forest with increasing speed. Saffor kicked back and relaxed as they began the long slog back to orbit. He rested his feet on his treasure chest and grinned as he thought of the riches within, enough to pay off his debts and then some. Then a curious thought made him reach into a pocket and draw forth the three jewels he had stolen. They shimmered with an inner fire that moved like living things and entranced the eye with pleasing sparkles. Saffor held them up to his eye and examined their magnificent perfection as he mused, "Truly wondrous, I know three ladies who will love these. My concubines will be anxious but they will forgive everything when I set these in silver necklaces for them to wear."

So Saffor flew away, idly speculating about material concerns as screams he could not hear emanated from the jewels. He was utterly deaf to the pleas from the souls bound within, unable to sense them begging to be returned to their families and homes. The living essences of the Treesinger and the guards were being taken away, not to a place of eternal peace but condemned to be trophies worn around the necks of apes and primitives. Yet one more injury inflicted on the Eldar of Athelling by the Imperium of Man.


	75. Chapter 75

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 75**

Kerubim blinked as he emerged from the depths of the Apophis, stepping out onto the surface of the world. His armour immediately noted the surge in toxin levels, threatening to overwhelm the blessed seals and its spirit locked the airflow to internal stores, effectively cutting him off from the atmosphere. Even so his armour was at the verge of tolerances, the toxicity of the air clawing at his armour even as thick spores tried to cover his eye lenses and block his vision.

Kerubim forced himself to take another step onto the world and peered about, looking for the dropship. Sure enough the looming bulk of the Angantyr was just visible through the murk, sitting where he had left it, its bow open and ramps extended to receive him. Kerubim hastily advanced towards it, followed eagerly by Bane and ten Brothers of Primus Cohort, all in sealed power armour. It had to be sealed for no other protection could withstand the lethal quagmire the atmosphere had become, tainted with spores that multiplied like crazy. Already Kerubim's armour was coated in the stuff, its black flecks building up in his joints as he walked.

A few hours earlier the survivors of the battle in the depths had broken out onto the surface, only to be surprised to find the Amber Vipers waiting for them. Jubilant greetings had been offered and boastful tales exchanged of their various battles, but they had been brief. Within minutes the deadly mould the Chapter had unleashed began to encroach on the lost starship's position, making it hard for the mortals to breathe. Chapter Master Coluber had ordered the Huscarls and lighter-armoured Brothers to withdraw back to base, to commence an emergency evacuation back to orbit and send the Angantyr to their location. Only Primus Cohort remained to salvage the Apophis' treasures, a most difficult and dangerous operation.

Kerubim glanced back at the squad and felt his skin crawl. In their arms were carried strange containers, canisters of lethal viruses and artefacts of dread power and malevolence. In their all too vulnerable arms rested spheres holding nanobots killers, warp-funnels, psionic ravagers and devices that could rend reality itself. It made Kerubim's bowels loosen to imagine what would happen if just one of the containment wards failed, the loss of every single Brother left on the planet would only be the beginning. Kerubim wasn't sure that removing these devices from the secret vaults was a good idea and he wondered if the Chapter Master grasped how lethal this ordnance was. Sadly orders were orders, Coluber had decreed the Chapter would claim the spoils of this place and Kerubim was in no position to argue.

While he had been walking the alarms in his helm's vision were soaring worryingly high. This already contaminated place was getting worse by the second. The lands around them were a festering quagmire of disintegrating wood and grass, becoming putrid swamps that bubbled poisonous gases. The terrible blight the Amber Vipers had unleashed seemed to be growing more toxic by the second. Perhaps it was due to the increasing scale of the rot or perhaps some strange interaction between the contaminated landscape and the mould, either way Kerubim was eager to be somewhere else.

He hastily put his foot on the ramp of the dropship and hastened inside, followed by his Brothers. At the top of the ramp plastek screens, specially coated in bleaching agents, had been erected to seal off spores from entering. They already looked heavy with mould but Kerubim stepped through an opening to enter a disinfection area. Once inside the Brothers were doused with chemical agents and caustic liquids, killing off any spores that coated their armour. Black runnels poured off Kerubim's plate, draining away dead microbes and fungal spores. He endured this for several minutes until he was waved through. He stepped within the dropship proper and directed the Brothers to secure their trophies alongside those already claimed. The wide floor of the Dropship was filled with weapons stolen from the hidden armoury. It had taken almost a dozen round trips to empty the vault but now the Amber Vipers had a substantial supply of Fission-Blasters, Volkite pistols, Burst-lances, rad-grenades, Bileflamers and other items. The sight of so much arcane lore on display made Kerubim's head spin, what he could learn from studying them, such secrets as mankind had not known for countless millennia. Dotted among the weapons were the strange armours, Kerubim wasn't certain that he could find any use for those but who knew what mysteries they would reveal.

He heard a heavy footfall behind him and turned to see three Space Marines approaching: Master Coluber, Battle-Captain Ferrac and Apothecary Shrios. They were all wearing their helms, nobody was willing to risk breathing the air even inside the supposedly safe interior. The youth bowed low and said, "My lord, this is the last. I must urge haste, I wish to secure these weapons as soon as possible."  
"A special facility on the Wyvern is being set aside for them," Coluber affirmed, "Any sign of Eldar in the depths?"

Kerubim answered, "A few sightings but nothing threatening. The survivors seemed to be looking for a way out. We avoided confrontations."  
"Hah, let the knife-ears run," Ferrac scoffed, "If they step outside they will choke to death and if they stay they will starve in the depths."Kerubim replied, "I doubt it will take that long, toxicity is creeping in. The ship won't be viable much longer."

Coluber nodded sagely and said, "I am pleased by your swift work."  
"You're not the only one," Shrios muttered, "At the rate the toxicity level is rising we wouldn't be able to stick around for another run."

Coluber ignored that as he said, "The base is evacuated, though they had to leave many heavy structures behind. A shame but with this bounty we gain more than we lose, in the long run."  
Kerubim asked, "What of Dewmar and Anaxar squads?"  
Coluber informed him, "They have nearly finished excavating the Howling Griffon's equipment. They report there is one more tank to unearth, a big one, then they shall board Viper's Bite and Poisoned Fang and depart this planet."

Coluber hadn't forgotten the wealth of Astartes gear left in the forest and had sent two squads back to finish what the Amber Viper's had started, while the remainder worked to loot the lost starship. They had been forced to travel in Thunderhawks, for nothing else could have flown through the torpid mix the air had become. The gunships and the Angantyr were the last Amber Viper presences on the planet, and when they left Athelling would be nought but a memory to the Chapter. Kerubim's mouth went dry at the prospect of what he would find waiting for him when they returned to orbit so he asked, "Are we done?"

"Almost," Coluber replied, "Squad Treno is on its way back from the secondary bridge and then we can leave."  
"Finally," Ferrac snarled, "I can't wait to get off this planet and get Primus Cohort back into training."

Shrios looked at him and said, "You're going nowhere save to the Apothecarion. Your face needs attention."  
Ferrac was indeed a state, his armour battered and broken, not least the hideous ruin of his faceplate. Yet the Battle-Captain muttered, "It can wait."  
"No it can't," Shrios barked, "The burns I could have repaired with skin grafts but the rad-exposure killed your nerve endings. You will have no feeling in your face without extensive medical interventions. You can expect to be spending months on a surgical slab."

Ferrac sniffed, "I don't have time for that, I have Warriors to hammer into shape and wars to fight."  
"Do you want to walk about with dead flesh dropping off your face?"  
Ferrac replied dismissively "Kerubim can forge me an augmetic."

Kerubim blinked as he replied, "Battle-Captain I am not sure my skills could meet your requirements. The best I can give you is a fashioned mask, to cover your features. I'd have to fuse it directly to the bones, you'd never be able to remove it."  
Ferrac sounded intrigued as he said, "A mask? A war mask with savagery written all over it… I like the sound of that."

Coluber's head turned as he queried jestingly, "You desire to walk about with a faceplate fused to your head? You'd look like some savage barbarian warlord at best, a monster at worst."  
Ferrac sounded genuinely amused as he said, "You make it sound better and better. Kerubim get to work as soon as we return to orbit, I expect you to make me look like the wrath of the Emperor made manifest. I shall need if I am to whip any hint of sedition out of Primus Cohort."

Coluber's voice lowered and all trace of amusement vanished as he said, "I scarcely believed it when you told me of Excelsium's betrayal. To think one of our own could turn against us, it strikes to the very core of me, of all Amber Vipers."

All eyes turned to a corner, where Excelsium's armour lay. The body had gone putrid over the course of several days and the stench of it would have scoured the nostrils, were they breathing open air. Still the armour itself had been too valuable to lose, so Ferrac had gone to retrieve it himself. Kerubim still found it hard to believe the Sergeant had turned against his Chapter but Shrios didn't sound so concerned as he said, "It was only one aberration, one misguided soul. Nothing to distress the rest of the Vipers with."

Coluber however said, "I disagree, this is could be but the first sign of a deeper flaw. How many more think as he did, how many hold their own personal glory higher in esteem than their duty to Chapter and Emperor?"  
Ferrac snarled, "If one can turn more can, it cannot be allowed. We did not build this Chapter up from nothing only to watch it slide into Heresy."

Coluber concurred, "I know we have played fast and loose with our discipline but I would slit the throats of every single Amber Viper with my own two hands before I allowed another Heretic to arise among us. Better to be dead than Traitors."  
Shrios nodded as he agreed, "I understand, I won't let such treachery happen, not again."

Kerubim wasn't certain what the trio meant, for their words sounded vehement. He did not think they meant Excelsium alone but as always he was excluded from their deliberations. He drew in a breath and questioned, "What do you intend to do?"Coluber breathed, "Something must change. Our training and hypno-indoctrination have proved inadequate. We need something else, something sterner. I shall meditate upon the issue another day. For now let us secure our prizes and be off."

Kerubim turned as another group of Space Marines entered the drop-ship. It was Sergeant Treno and his squad. The warriors were lead by Vardat, who suffered the chemical showers with annoyance written all over him. Kerubim spied the others carrying a Cogitator core, torn from the Apophis' bridge and three bulkier forms. These were battle-automata, similar to the one that had attacked the Amber Vipers on the bridge. Their frames were so large and cumbersome it took three Space Marines to carry each one and they set the machines down with relieved grunts. The sight of the automatons worried Kerubim, the Cadmus-robots had proved dangerously intelligent, not to mention heavily armed. Yet they were badly damaged and non-functional. Studying them may prove interesting, but in his heart of hearts he intended to make repairing them a low priority. Coluber turned from the sight and declared, "That is the last, seal the hatch and take off."

The great doors began to close and the ramps retracted as the dropship prepared to depart. Kerubim took one last look out the diminishing gap and saw a world beset by poison and contagion, lost to the contamination his Chapter had set loose. He had no love for the Eldar but the lost chance to explore the Apophis and uncover its secrets gnawed at him and he said, "I wonder if we can ever return, there is so much more to learn here."  
"I doubt it," Ferrac muttered, "This region will be uninhabitable for thousands of years, maybe more. Even in power armour I wouldn't risk it."

Shrios concurred, "We have other concerns, the decontamination procedures awaiting us will be arduous. I won't let anything off this dropship until I am satisfied not a single spore made it inside."  
Coluber walked away as he said, "You do that, I intend to browse our prizes. I spied a remarkable Null Collar that would complement my armour and a Volkite pistol would suit a Chapter Master most well."  
Ferrac muttered, "You can have mine, I prefer my sledgehammer gun, I miss breaking spines."

As they departed Bane inched nearer and Kerubim placed a gauntlet on its head. Together they watched the dropship's doors close and Athelling disappeared as the engines began to rumble. As the Amber Vipers departed forevermore Kerubim rubbed the Vorax's casing soothingly and pondered what mysteries lay before him. The deepest secrets of the Machine God were within his grasp and he did not intend to stop exploring until he had mastered them all. He envisioned a future where he strode the stars as a Techmarine proper, using his lore with a cold heart and a fast blade, as was the Amber Viper's way. But that was a matter for another day, right now he had labours to tend to. So he turned his face away and forgot Athelling as he set to work.


	76. Chapter 76

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 76**

The village was gone, lost to the crawling horror that consumed the land. Whole swathes of the forest were gone, dissolving into the black filth that pushed ever onwards. A black cloud hung over the lands, a malevolent fog of toxic spores that cast eternal night under its mass. Forest, mountain and glade, all were covered by the rot without exception. Tendrils of dark corruption ran ahead of that cloud, spreading the taint further and further. It had already devoured everything within a day's flying of the Vale of Midnight Tears and it was growing faster.

Elhyn looked upon the rot and knew his life as he had known it was over. He was currently standing on the far side of the Gynsmere river, the vast canyon carved into the land forming a natural barrier to the spreading corruption. The far side was already covered in the taint, the black veins pushing down one side of the canyon to touch the frothing waters. The river was stained black by its festering aura, carrying the taint downstream but the swift-moving waters prevented the mould reaching the other side. Elhyn was under no illusion that this would be permanent, the corruption was too insidious to be denied, sooner or later it would find a way across and keep spreading. But for today it served as a rallying point for the defeated survivors. They sat upon the ground and wept for their losses: their homes, their loved ones and the souls of their ancestors, torn from eternal rest and devoured by She Who Thirsts.

Elhyn gazed upon the lands he had known all his life and did not recognise them. The vast forests were gone, exposing more sky than he had ever seen at once. The glades where he had flown and hunted had been devoured; the herds consumed and even predators and crystal spiders had been razed to nothingness. The village of the Wind-dancers had been taken too, all his Kinband's homes falling to the corruption. Few had escaped the destruction, only those able to reach their Drakes in time to flee and those who had fled the battle. Of a proud and noble people almost nothing remained, a fraction of their numbers had survived the coming of the Mon-Keigh to Athelling, leaving a broken and devastated world in their wake. Of the other Kinbands there were fewer yet, the Swift-runners, Stone-hearts and Bloody-talons being too slow to evacuate. Their Longstriders, Leviatatus and Chellonians being overrun by the corruption, even as they ran for their lives. Only the Kraken-riders had managed to save any decent amount of their people, flying straight from the growing tide of horror and not looking back.

Elhyn had looked for the Dynasts but Galahyn, Gonredil and Olalath had not returned from the Vale of Midnight Tears and he could only assume they were dead. Elhyn felt the loss weigh heavily upon him, dismayed by how far the Eldar had fallen from grace. Athelling had been a verdant world and its people bountiful, by the standards of the dying Eldar race, more Exodites had populated this one world than any Craftworld could dream of. Now their prosperity was in ruins and their very survival threatened, extinction beckoned and unless something was done their saga would end. Elhyn might well live to see the death of his whole world. He wished he could rail against such a fate, he wished he could rage and shout but he felt hollow inside, cold and empty. All his youthful exuberance was gone and there was no fire left in him.

He heard footsteps approaching and turned to see a party of souls emerging from among the dishevelled and weary crowd. Panthiro, M'sgith and E'raye, along with Dalsaar, the only surviving Dynast. They looked utterly defeated, weary to the bone and they walked to him with heads bowed low. Elhyn looked at them and saw what he dreaded most in their eyes but he had to ask anyway, "Laegwen?"

Nobody could look him in the eye but Panthiro lamented, "Nowhere to be seen, none saw her escape the village. We can only assume the Treesinger is lost."

Elhyn sagged as woe built within him and breathed, "My sister, my mother, my home. There is nothing left of the Wind-dancers."

The grief was heavy to bear but Dalsaar protested, "There is you. Elhyn, you are now Dynast of the Wind-dancers and it falls to you to lead your people."

"Lead them where?" Elhyn moaned, "What lands are not claimed by some other Kinband? Who would not raise their spears to drive us from their lands?"

Dalsaar pursed his lips then proposed, "You could join the Kraken-riders and add your strength to ours."

Elhyn was startled to hear that, their Kinbands had been bitter rivals for generations, the idea of his mother's most hated foe offering an open hand was shocking. "Why you would offer that?" Elhyn probed.

Dalsaar shrugged, "Our pasts are irrelevant now, this corruption will consume all of Athelling if we don't stop it. Who cares about the size of our hunting grounds if those lands are torn out from under us?"

Elhyn was surprised by his admission yet Panthiro spat, "You mean to absorb the Wind-dancers? It would be the end of us. The songs of our people would no longer be sung; our sacred dances would be forgotten. The Kraken-riders would benefit from our numbers but the culture of the Wind-dancers would be erased."

Elhyn heard the pride in his tone but sighed, "My friend it is already too late for that, our Treesinger is lost and with her the voices of our ancestors. The Wind-dancers are already dead."

Panthiro protested, "But if you pledge us to Dalsaar you would no longer be the Dynast."

Elhyn replied, "My mother would never consider it but she is gone. I must think of what is best for our people. Where could we go where we could build a new life? There is no land we could travel to without having to fight other Kinbands, nobody would give up their lands to make room for us. We can cling to our pride and die or be humble and live. This is the only way to survive."

Dalsaar inclined his head and said, "Wise words and I pledge the memory of the Wind-dancers will not end. We shall accept you as friends and see your rites become part of ours."

Panthiro eyed him and said, "I doubt your Kin would share your generosity, what could persuade them not to slit our throats in our sleep?"

Dalsaar confessed, "Because they know we cannot survive alone. The Kraken-rider's lands abut yours; so we shall face the corruption next. If we do not find a way to stop this rot then my lands shall die within days."

Elhyn frowned as he queried, "You think was can undo this?"

Dalsaar sighed, "Stop it? No. Contain it… perhaps. Either way we have to try. I have already sent word to all the Kinbands of Athelling, all those who refused to join our fight against the Mon-Keigh. They sensed the breach of the World Spirit and understand the scale of the threat. A great council of Treesingers is being called to confront this rot. They will seek a way to quarantine the corruption and ward it away from other lands… they have to succeed or all Athelling is doomed. I shall need your voice for the inevitable arguments that follow."

Elhyn bowed his head and said, "That is more generous than I could have hoped for, I thank you and offer what strength we have to your efforts."

It was a solemn pledge yet as he said it E'raye broke her silence to utter, "You do not speak for all of us."

Elhyn blinked in shock and spluttered, "What do you mean?"

M'sgith answered, "We shall not pledge to another Kinband, we refuse."

Elhyn heart sank as he said, "You intend to claim a new land? Foolish madness, you can't think to wage battle with so few numbers."

However E'raye surprised them all by saying, "You misunderstand, we do not intend to stay on Athelling, we shall take to the Webway and seek a new future among the stars."

"What?!" Panthiro spat, "You intend to flee Athelling?! Where among the stars shall you go, what shall you do?"

M'sgith replied candidly, "We shall seek out the Ynnari, the Whispering God accepts all."

Elhyn protested in disbelief, "You would chase a fleeting madness, a cult of insanity? We need you here."

Panthiro agreed, "I loathe the idea of joining another Kinband as much as you do but this is madness. You can't leave us now."

E'raye spat back, "We can and we will."

M'sgith added, "We are not alone, Eldar from the Wind-dancers, Kraken-riders, Stone-hearts, Bloody-talons and Swift-runners think as we do. They prepare to leave as we speak."

Panthiro growled, "You won't go, I won't let you."

Yet Elhyn cut him off saying, "You would unleash more strife among us? No, we cannot survive if we are at each other's throats. If they want to depart, then let them go."

Panthiro spun about and spat, "You permit this madness?!"

Elhyn sighed, "My mother said no Dynast can stop the calling of one's heart. We are not Mon-Keigh tyrants to dictate what our people can and can't think. If their hearts do not belong to Athelling then there is no point keeping them here. They would never be content, better they go than stay and grow bitter and resentful."

E'raye nodded sagely and said, "I thank you, we shall depart in peace and cause you no more trouble."

Elhyn accepted this but M'sgith paused and looked at him strangely. She hesitated a moment then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "Remember me fondly and dream of what might have been."

Then the twins turned about and departed. Elhyn was confused by her words, it sounded almost like she had been hinting at something between them but she had never expressed any interest to him in all the decades they had hunted together. He was baffled by her final missive and realised he would never have a chance to ask what she had meant. He lowered his eyes and lamented, "Another loss, how many more can we bear?"

Dalsaaar stepped in and said, "As many as we must. A shame the other Dynasts did not heed your words. Had the Dynast's heeded your council this tragedy may have been averted."

Elhyn sighed, "No, it would not. Even I underestimated the threat. We misunderstood the prophecy."

Dalsaar frowned as he said, "What do you mean?"

Elhyn explained, "Our ancestors took told us disaster would unfold when the Vale of Midnight Tears was violated. We took it to mean the invaders would release corruption but we were wrong. The Mon-Keigh brought the taint with them from the stars. We should have attacked the second they arrived and wiped them out, no matter the cost to ourselves."

Dalsaar sighed, "Oh for the wisdom of a Farseer, perhaps it was a mistake to have none among us who follow the Path of foresight."

Then Panthiro interjected, "We cannot waste time lamenting the past, we must move forward. Our people need to leave this place, before the rot crosses the ravine."

"Indeed," Dalsaar concurred, "Let us be away from this place."

With that the pair strode away. Elhyn lingered a moment longer, gazing at the ruins of his home. His childhood was truly over and a bleak adulthood awaited him. He doubted he would ever fly free again, that he would laugh or love as freely as he once had. The rest of his life promised nothing but a dire struggle against the rot that infested his world and he knew he would spend the rest of his days seeking to undo the corruption that blighted Athelling. The Mon-keigh had doomed him to this dull existence, their crude and brutal existence was a curse upon the stars and he wished them all the pain and tragedy an uncaring galaxy could throw at them. A cold and miserable future lay before him and with a heavy heart he set off to find Ilfavor and begin his thankless task.


	77. Chapter 77

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 77**

Ferrac was pleased with the iron mask fused to his forehead, nose and cheekbones. The mask covered his features in plasteel, leaving only his eyes and jawline exposed. The effect was to give him a fearsome appearance and he enjoyed the way people shrank back from the sight of him. He already had plans to embellish it with a serpent design but that was for another day. Today the Amber Vipers were counting the costs of victory and the spoils of war. Through the depths of the Wyvern Ferrac marched, following Shrios and Coluber at a brisk pace. The Chapter Master looked resplendent in his refurbished armour, fitted with a dark iron Null Collar and a Volkite pistol hanging opposite his relic sword Venom. He was welcome to it, Ferrac was glad to have his sledgehammer gun back, though he had kept the knife he had taken from the Apophis. There was one other soul present, Rogue Trader Saffor Teliday, who was regaling the Astartes with tales of his escape.

Coluber listened politely then said, "It seems you had a lucky escape. I find it unbelievable you were able to outwit the Eldar."

Saffor smiled warmly as he said, "I have a trick or two up my sleeve. I dazzled with my wit then fought my way out past a score of guards."

"An astonishing story," Coluber commented.

A story was the right word, Ferrac thought, the tale was so embellished that it could not possibly be true. He doubted an Astartes could have pulled it off and Saffor was only mortal. Ferrac suspected the man was outrageously lying and he was sure Coluber thought the same. Still the man had made it back to orbit alive, which spoke much of his cunning and guile. As they talked the party had reached a large doorway and they stepped within to find a workshop, filled with bustling artisans and servitors. Machine tools screeched as they fashioned parts and men sang ritual chanteys of the forge. Bright flashes lit the space, as the smell of welding and soldering filled the air and the percussion of hammers rang loudly. Servo skulls floated overhead, spraying incense and atop a lectern a chattel with mechanical callipers for arms turned over the pages of a heavy book, reading aloud binaric psalms.

Among the crowd the artisan Nathanal was directing teams to and fro but he broke off when he saw the Chapter Master. He wiped his hands on a rag then stuffed it into a pocket of his overalls before striding over. Coluber called out, "How are our prizes coming along?"

"Surprisingly good," Nathanal replied, "We make swift progress, the machines are eager to serve."

Ferrac looked about and commented, "I don't see everything we took from Athelling."

Coluber explained, "The most dangerous artefacts are waiting a special containment facility. But I allowed Nathanal access to the Howling Griffon's gear and selection of lesser weapons."

Nathanal eyed Ferrac and said, "I see you kept the knife."

"It's a good knife," Ferrac replied defensively, "I call it 'Fang'."

"A Fang?" Nathanal mused, "A better name than gas-compression knife I suppose. And I see you claimed a Volkite pistol Master, take good care of it, if you break it I can't fix it."

Saffor interrupted to ask, "What treasures do you have for us?"

The man's greed was obvious but Nathanal seemed eager to show off and swept his arm about to encompass the room as he said, "We claimed thirty-seven suits of power armour, along with bolters, plasma cannons and meltas."

Ferrac was impressed and said, "That could expand Primus Cohort significantly."

"Only one extra squad," Coluber warned him, "We need the rest of the suits for parts to maintain our ailing armours."

Ferrac sank back, six squads was better than five but he would have preferred eight. Meanwhile Nathanal continued, "We also claimed three Rhino APC's and a Hunter anti-air, proud steeds with glorious histories. Two tanks… and of course this."

He gestured to a corner where teams of chattels lovingly tended a Land Speeder Storm. They diligently worked over its exposed mechanisms and polished its casing with loving pride. Ferrac noted where they were expanding its rear compartment and high atop protruded the familiar form of the Frost-field generator, granting the skimmer arcane protection. Nathanal informed them, "As per your instructions we are making a chariot fit for a Chapter Master, she will serve you well."

Ferrac glanced at his lord and questioned, "You are claiming this as your own?"

Coluber grinned as he answered, "I grow tired of lagging behind you in battle. With this I can keep up. Does it have a name?"

Nathanal informed them, "Info-cyte interrogation of the Machine Spirit reveals its name is Drakones."

Ferrac was impressed but suddenly there was a scream from behind. They spun about and saw a chattel working on the tanks had his hand caught in the caterpillar tracks. There were two machines, one a familiar Predator, the other a low swept machine with angled tracks and two huge plasma cannons on top. It was unlike any design Ferrac had ever seen, though its lines were clearly of Astartes origin. A half dozen chattels ran to the pinned man and heaved him backwards, he fell with a cry of pain and a spray of blood, missing half the fingers on his hand.

As men hurried to bandage the man's hand Nathanal sighed, "Oh for Frak's sake, not another one."

"Another?" Shrios probed.

"Aye," Nathanal sighed, "That's the fifth accident we've had with this Omega Sicaran. An ill aura hangs over that one."

"You think it's jinxed?" Ferrac warily asked, for such things were taken most seriously in the superstitious Imperium.

Yet Nathanal replied, "No, I think that one is a vicious bitch. It's Machine's Spirit is sullen and cruel and it likes biting the hand that feeds it. I can't even find its name in the internal logic engine; I think its laughing at me."

Everybody shrank back but Coluber ordered, "Enough of this, show me the real prize."

Nathanal sighed but then walked over to a corner, where a short pedestal was surrounded by chattels. They were studying a Hololithic projection, which displayed a series of schematics and data-flows. The mortals withdrew as their lords approached, allowing them to examine the projection in detail. Ferrac was intrigued by the flowing information but could not read any of it, the text was densely parsed and he said, "What is it?"

Nathanal explained eagerly, "This is data mined from the cogitator core you brought back. It's too advanced for me to comprehend, but any Tech-Priest would sell his metal heart for the technical records. Then there's this."

He pressed a rune on the console and the information changed. Ferrac recognised star charts appearing, showing colony worlds and military bases, but none of them were Imperial, this was a map of space as it was thirty thousand years ago. Saffor seemed intrigued as he murmured, "That's the Anchor Nebula. Using that as a reference that star must be Gotarna and that one Xethial, current Imperial worlds, but what are these? Here, look here, these six stars systems are marked as being colonised but they appear on no Imperial star chart I know of. Throne, those are undiscovered colonies of Man. They may never have been visited by the Imperium, who knows what riches they hold."

Coluber commented, "Worth pursuing another day but you haven't shown us the greatest treasure."

Nathanal grinned as he said, "I was saving the best for last: behold."

He manipulated the controls again and three schematics sprang up. Ferrac peered and saw some form of shuttle, a las-cannon and knife, one he recognised and he exclaimed, "That's my Fang."

Nathanal was practically giddy as he said, "Yes, this is the STC design for the gas-compression knife. It's so elegant and efficient, using this Template I can mass-produce those knives, even with our limited resources."

Coluber rubbed his jaw and said, "Make it a priority. I want every Amber Viper to carry a Fang at his side. But what are the other designs?"

Nathanal explained, "The cannon is some form of vehicle-mounted primary weapon, a 'Heavy Laser Destroyer' the files calls it. I need more time to examine it to see if we can use it. The other is an orbital cargo shuttle, civilian grade but easy to fit armour to. An Iapetus-class anti-grav hauler. Studying this gave us key information on how to repair your Land Speeder."

Saffor leaned in and said, "Look at the anti-grav plates along its underside, they must increase fuel efficiency. No shuttle I know of uses such a configuration. I… I don't think any world in the Imperium uses this model."

Nathanal nodded, "I haven't visited every world in the galaxy but I suspect you're right. This is an entirely new STC."

"Emperor Wept," Ferrac breathed in wonder, for it was a indeed a rare prize. An unknown STC would be a treasure beyond compare, the Adeptus Mechanicus would kill to own this, literal wars had been fought over a single STC and the Amber Vipers now owned three of them. The very idea made his head spin, the Tech-Priests would offer anything for these designs, any price the Amber Vipers demanded. It seemed Coluber agreed for he reached down and pressed a rune, causing the shuttle design to be uploaded to a data-crystal, which he pulled from the pedestal. He held it up to the light then faced Saffor and said, "This will suffice for my purposes. I will take this to House Chamandley and present it to the Novator to seal our bargain. With this our new allies' allegiance will be secured."

Saffor looked on with envious eyes as he said, "It certainly will, and then some. Walkaq will be delighted, this will buy him enough riches to walk into the palaces of Terra and lord over his rivals. But why only one, what of the other two STCs?"

"Your greed is obvious," Coluber decreed, "But I don't trust you enough to let you near them."

Saffor's head rose and his brow furrowed as he said, "I don't follow."

Coluber's calm expression darkened as he ordered, "Ferrac, detain him."

Saffor's jaw dropped but Ferrac's hand moved like lightning and clamped around the Rogue Trader's neck, lifting him off the floor like a bag of flour. The man kicked and squirmed in his grip but could not get free and his face turned red he spluttered, "What are you doing?!"

Coluber leaned in and growled, "Did you take me for a fool? You were captured by the Eldar, yet walked out without a scratch. I don't believe it, they wouldn't let you live… unless you were useful. You helped them, you sold us out!"

Saffor looked desperate as he protested, "I didn't…"

"Lie to me and I will snap your neck," Ferrac snarled as he shook the man.

Saffor bit down on his retort then said, "What else was I supposed to do? You left me to die, you abandoned me, so I made my own arrangements. You would have done the same."

Coluber sneered, "You do not deny it, I should kill you… but I have a better use for you. Shrios."

The Apothecary pulled a small syringe from his belt and Ferrac watched with interest as he stepped up to the helpless Rogue Trader and rammed it into the neck. Saffor yelped in protest but couldn't resist as the Apothecary injected the contents and then stepped back. At a nod from Coluber Ferrac dropped the Rogue Trader and Saffor hit the deck, rubbing his neck as he exclaimed, "What was that?!"

Shrios answered, "A Carvaj gene-blight, a virus that attacks your genic code. The initial effects are unpleasant enough, yet that's just it settling in. Once in your genes it starts to generate cancers, filling your body with tumours. The effects are slow but you'll start to feel it in a few years. Removing the tumours surgically will buy you a few more years but you won't live a decade"

Saffor looked horrified as he spluttered, "Why have you done this?!"

Coluber grinned evilly as he said, "As insurance, I have a mission for you and I needed a guarantee that you'll come back for the cure."

Saffor's eyes widened as he said, "A cure? You infect me with a disease and then offer a cure, in exchange for what?"

Coluber explained, "You will go explore those lost colony worlds for me. I have alliances to build and wars to fight, I cannot waste time poking around ruins but you can. Find me something of worth, something valuable enough to warrant a cure and I will undo this affliction."

Saffor glared at them and spat, "You want me to go thieving for you?! Where is your vaunted honour?!"

Ferrac growled, "If you want an honourable death I can shoot you right now."

Saffor's face screwed up but he bit down the retort. Instead he stood up and brushed himself off, then he glared at the lot of them before storming off, muttering under his breath, "Miserable thieving bastards, I should have known better than to get involved with Astartes. Never work with animals, children or Space Marines."

The party watched him go and when he was out of the room Ferrac muttered, "A good incentive but you know he'll rush straight to his Apothecarion and try to find a cure."

"Let him try," Shrios said, "His medicaes can't cure something that isn't there."

Nathanal had been watching this play out and said, "I don't understand, you said you infected him with a Carvaj gene-blight."

Shrios sniffed, "Carvaj? There is no such thing. I made it up."

Ferrac's head snapped about and he exclaimed, "You tricked him! But what was in that syringe?"

Shrios smirked as he answered, "An inoculation for Necromundian flu, nothing more. The itching and rashes will be unpleasant for a few weeks but he'll recover with no long term effects."

Ferrac couldn't help but laugh out loud, "Ha! Saffor will be in an Apothecarion for months, prodded and poked by chirurgeons looking for a disease that isn't there!"

Shrios laughed, "The kind of tests they'll subject him to will be far worse than my little shot."

Everybody chuckled evilly but Nathanal asked, "Won't he figure it out eventually?"

Coluber declared, "Not before he brings us something of value. In the meantime, we have work to do."

Ferrac glanced at his lord and guessed, "The weapons we took from the ship?"

"Indeed," Coluber affirmed, "We must address this immediately. Come Brothers leave the artisans to their work, we have a most unpleasant task ahead of us."


	78. Chapter 78

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 78**

The fighting arena was filled with a heady clamour, the shouting of Brothers and the beating of hands into fists. The Amber Vipers called out encouragement and jeers as they watched the duel play out, their throaty cries filling the hall with exuberant noise. Their arms were bare, as power armour had been returned to the artisans for consecration and repair but they kept their weapons close to hand. The heat of so many bodies pressed together was intense as was the smell of genhanced muscles and transhuman sweat, yet nobody commented on that. All eyes were fixed upon the stage, where Glord was duelling with another Space Marine, Brother Thutha both in plain tunics that left their arms and legs bare. The pair had been battering each other for three minutes, stabbing and hacking with dulled blades as they sought to best each other.

At the edge of the crowd Sergeant Reddam leant on his spear alongside his squad and together they watched Glord's duel. The Marine had fully recovered from his injuries, though the scar tissue on his bicep pulled when he exerted himself. Still it was good to be standing, he would never admit it but flying a Vulture in combat so soon after his injury had taxed his stamina. He remembered the battle well, the flurry of wings and arrows, the desperate chases and the hard-won victory. So close had they come to disaster but through cunning and ruthlessness they had defeated the Xenos and taken their prize. He knew Athelling would enter the Chapter's history as a triumph, a mark of honour for future generations to swoon over but he would always remember the blood spent and the lives lost there. The Amber Vipers had skirted the edge of extinction and Reddam would always think of that cursed planet with a mixture of pride and regret.

He was distracted as Joffel called out, "Watch the foot! Glord, watch his… too late."

Reddam focussed and saw Glord falling back before the younger Thutha, desperately defending against a vicious series of blows. Their Brother was fighting hard but the match was too even to call. Reddam muttered, "This is taking too long, Glord should have put him down already."  
Kazao muttered from under his helmet, "Glord's bigger but Thutha is skilled, plus he's got more to prove."

It was true, the young marine had just been promoted to Secundus, drawn from Tertitus to make up the losses suffered in recent days. There had been a lot of that recently; the ranks of the fighting companies had to be maintained so the Snakelet-scouts had been elevated en-masse. The Chapter effectively had no scouts anymore, a situation that could not be suffered for long; they would have to go recruiting sooner rather than later. Reddam had heard from the other Sergeants that the Chapter Master was already seeking another war, one where they could recruit orphans to join the Chapter as Aspirants. Thutha had been full of himself at the promotion and his swagger had seen him challenge Glord to a bout, one that was proving surprisingly tricky.

Among the shouting crowds Reddam muttered, "Come on Glord, take him down."  
Yet Larus commented, "Glord's too used to swinging a Heavy Bolter, he's never been a master with a blade."  
Reddam's nose crinkled at the criticism and he said, "Glord can take that mewling snot-nosed pup, trust in your Brother."

Eyes glanced around curiously and Larus asked, "You two really bonded in the woods didn't you?"  
Reddam replied sternly, "Glord's faith is his strength, in his squadmates and himself. Watch, you'll see."

Suddenly Thutha thrust with his knife, stabbing the blade into Glord's shoulder but even as he did so the bigger Marine put his head down and barged into the youth. Thutha cried out in surprise as Glord's charge slammed him backwards, carrying them both towards the edge of the ring. He beat his fists on Glord's back but was unable to resist the momentum that saw them both go sailing out of ring and fall. It was only a short drop but the sound of Thutha's back hitting the floor rang out clear, cutting through the noise of the crowd. There was a moment's silence then everybody began shouting, proclaiming one Brother the victor or the other. Some claimed Thutha had lost for touching the ground, others Glord for deliberately leaving the ring. Reddam looked about but saw no clear resolution and took up his spear before slamming the butt to the floor three times. All eyes turned to look at him and he proclaimed, "Quit griping, you all know the Coda. Duellists fight until one is incapacitated or knocked out of the ring. First one to touch the floor outside the ring loses. Thutha touched the ground first, Glord wins."

Moans rang out as small trinkets and devotional tokens exchanged hands and to Reddam's surprise Larus pressed an engraved Bolt round into Tebes' hand. The Sergeant lifted an eyebrow and asked, "You best against Glord?"

Larus looked abashed as he admitted, "I underestimated him."  
"Everyone does," Reddam sighed, "I think he likes it that way."

As two more Brothers mounted the ring Glord pushed his way through the crowd and brushed his tunic clean. Showers of sandy grit fell from his hands as the dust of the ring was wiped away, then he approached the squad. His shoulder was scabbing over where he had been stabbed but otherwise he was unhurt. Reddam nodded to him and said, "Well done, that was a good fight."

Glord stretched his arms and said, "It was close, that youngster thirsted for the victory. With a blade in hand he's a devil."  
"He's yet to learn the lengths one must go to in order to win," Reddam commented, "A lesson you taught him this day."

Glord muttered, "Extreme lengths are not a problem for the Amber Vipers, not after what we did to the Eldar."  
Tebes spoke up then, "They were Xenos, waste no tears on them, they deserve no pity and no mercy."

Glord sniffed, "Yes of course, still I desire our next mission to be on the ground. I've had enough of flying, I want my attack bike back."  
"Our attack bike," Larus replied, "Back to lugging your arse around and I was so enjoying driving with someone else."

Reddam addressed them both by saying, "We shall go where we are sent and fight as required."  
"And come back for a good beer," Joffel quipped.

The noise of the crowd surged as the next duel began and amid the clamour Glord looked about and changed the subject by asking, "Where is the Chapter headed next?"  
Reddam sighed, "Back to House Chamandley to seal our bargain. Then we have a recruitment drive to launch. We need more fresh blood to replenish the ranks, so we better find a worthy war to engage in."

Joffel sighed, "Putting down more rebellions? Culling pirates and smugglers; inglorious work. How am I to ever reach the Primus Cohort?"  
Tebes muttered, "I wouldn't be so eager to join right now, Battle-Captain Ferrac's been in a sour mood ever since we got back."

"Aye," Kazao concurred, "Two week since we left Athelling and he's been bearing down on the Cohorts like an avalanche."  
Larus added, "I'm not surprised, if the rumours about what happened in the lost starship are true."

Everybody paused at that, for dark tales of sedition and Heresy had been spreading through the ranks of the Amber Vipers, growing more vile and depraved with each telling. Glord said, "I heard Excelsium was a Traitor, sworn to the Dark Gods. He tried to knife Ferrac in the back only to be decapitated."  
Tebes stated, "I heard he conducted dark rites and tried to summon a Daemon."  
Joffel waded in, "That nothing, I heard he was secretly an Alpha Legionnaire infiltrator. Ferrac fought off the Traitor with his bare hands, wrestling his trident from him and stabbing him through the hearts."

"That's enough," Reddam admonished them, "Don't listen to idle gossip, it does not concern us."  
Eyes fell but Glord dared to ask, "Sergeant, then why hasn't Excelsium squad been seen for two weeks?"  
Joffel added, "And why are Anaxar squad being fitted for jump packs? Only Ferrac's elites use those."

Reddam sighed, "Emperor save me from your bothersome questions. We'll learn what we need to know when we need to know it. Now quiet down, I want to see this."

On the raised stage the duel had come to its conclusion, ending with one Brother standing proud while another sprawled on the cold hard floor outside the ring. The crowd cheered or booed for their respective champions but Reddam's eye spotted a familiar sight bearing down on him. It was Sergeant Treno and he had a sour expression. Reddam faced the warrior square on and called, "Treno, something the matter?"

Treno faced him and said, "You, I challenge you."  
Reddam was surprised and said, "You seek a grudge match?"  
Treno snarled, "You didn't fight fair last time, I should have beaten you."

Glord interrupted to say, "You can't challenge the same person twice."  
But Reddam overrode him, "Yes he can. The Coda only says a warrior can only fight once a day, no more, to prevent squads ganging up. Plus I haven't fought today so I can fight anyone I please."

Treno sneered and turned to push his way through the crowd then jumped into the ring. Reddam smiled confidently as he took up his spear and followed, carefully flexing his muscles to warm up. His shoulder pulled slightly under his tunic but he was sure his strength was unaffected and he needed to keep limber lest his tendons cramp. He climbed onto the short stage and felt the grit crunch under his boots. As his opponent shook out his arms the crowd began to make their bets, for and against trying to predict the winner. Reddam however merely took up his de-energised spear and placed his feet surely as his mind cleared. No more doubts plagued him, no visions of a dishonourable past, even the origin of his spear was a but a distant memory. Reddam had a new Chapter and new Brothers, who trusted him and he trusted in turn. He had moved beyond his shame and embraced a new destiny. As the duel began Reddam knew his past was past and the future beckoned. Then he sprang at his foe and the blood began to flow.


	79. Chapter 79

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 79**

Ferrac watched as Vardat and Seyda knelt before their Chapter Master and swore vows of service. The pair made quite a sight for their armour had been completely replaced. Instead of their ramshackle Mark V gear they now wore the finest Mark VIII plate, the best armours recovered from the Howling Griffon's lost wargear. The plates had been painted in the colours of the Amber Vipers and bore the black snake and goblet icon on their left pauldron. They were lacking jump packs but they bore engraved serpents coiled around their graves and forearms and their chests boasted images of the Emperor upon the Golden Throne, the hollows of his deathly skull watching eternally and judging. The Brother's heads were bowed low and at their belts were helms which were crested with red hairbrush crests that rose from the back and ended before the forehead. They bore their Burst-lances with pride, held up to laterally as they vowed to forfeit their lives.

Coluber accepted the oaths of fealty with a look of solemn dignity and bid them, "Stand Brothers and be welcomed to my service. Henceforth you shall not fight as line Astartes but as my honour guard, standing at my side in battle and sharing every danger with me."

Vardat stood up and declared, "We shall not flag nor fail, no threat shall pass us by."

Seyda joined him proclaiming, "If we must lay down our lives to vouchsafe yours, then it shall be so."

The oaths were sealed and Ferrac stepped forward to declare, "Thus you are of Primus Cohort no more, now you are Exemplars of our Chapter."

"Well said," Coluber concurred, "This duty is more than a reward for your skills in battle. You stood true to our order when others fell into sedition and heresy. You must present that example to the ranks, where all can see you. You must embody all that is best in the Amber Vipers and set an example for your Brothers to follow. You must be Exemplars in thought and word and deed, so all may aspire to join your number. Now go forth and let the Chapter see you."

The pair bowed deeply then grasped their Burst-lances and departed. Ferrac watched them go and was proud of them but also saddened. Changes were coming to the Amber Vipers and the creation of an Honour Guard was the least of them. The Masters were deep within the Wyvern, in an empty storeroom, the Chapter had no fine Chapels or Reliquaries where such solemn oaths could be made, so any empty space would do. Ferrac secretly approved, the truth of the Chapter was in the hearts of its Brothers, not in gaudy decorations or gold draping.

Shrios stepped out of the shadows and said, "Finally, that took long enough."

"Show respect," Coluber rebuked him, "This is a hallowed moment."

"Pah," Shrios spat, "Sacraments and ceremonies, the Amber Vipers need not such trifles."

Coluber's face fell and Ferrac saw his sorrow as the Chapter Master said, "So I once thought. I believed we were building something better, a new Chapter free of Heresy and taint, I was wrong. Excelsium's betrayal cuts deep,"

Shrios glanced at Ferrac and asked, "Tell me truly, weren't you tempted by his offer."

Ferrac was offended by the question and growled, "Not for one second, he deserved to die."

Shrios sighed, "I still say we are overreacting to one over-ambitious Brother."

Ferrac hissed, "It's worse than overreaching ambition, he turned against his sworn Lord once and would do so again. He may have idolised me today, but when I did not live up to his standards he would have turned on me too."

Coluber agreed, "Excelsium's blunder was to try turn so loyal a soul as Ferrac, but had he picked another idol would we have ever known? How many more would he have swayed to his cause before they rose in armed rebellion against us? A new Sarpedeon was festering under my nose and I did not see."

Ferrac protested, "You cannot blame yourself, you did not lead him to sedition."

"I am Chapter Master," Coluber lamented woefully, "The responsibility falls to me, no other. I cannot assign blame to another for our Chapter's training and Hypno-indoctrination proving inadequate. Our Brotherhood is lacking in discipline and the fault is mine, I must correct that."

Shrios groaned aloud, "Chaplains, we're talking about making Chaplains."

Ferrac shared his dismay, those stern and disapproving figures were fierce taskmasters, ever judging the Initiates and drilling words of obedience, self-denial and penury into the heads of their Brothers. He had grown accustomed to life with the freedom to think and act and enjoy his day. To have that replaced by lives of self-flagellation and privation would be harsh to bear. Yet Coluber said, "Not Chaplains as such, there are none in the first or second generation who have the right character."

Ferrac was confused and said, "Then what?"

Coluber replied, "I shall hope for the best and prepare for the worst. The Exemplars shall embody our hope, as for the other… follow me and see."

Ferrac and Shrios looked at each other in confusion as Coluber stepped outside the room but they followed without question. They emerged into a long corridor, along which lines of Chattels were pushing trollies bearing various items. Ferrac's eye widened as he recognised Fission-blasters, rad-grenades, Bileflamers and Adrathic rifles. There were canisters of toxins and Phospex bombs, along with arcane devices of unknown providence. Among the procession were viler weapons: Virus-bombs and warp-flasks, spheres containing rapacious nanobot swarms and Psyonic warheads. The chattels moved with fearful steadiness, terrified of the slightest mishap that could crack the wards. At the very back Servitors dragged a bulky cogitator core and three Cadmus-robots, their forms almost disappointing among this carnival of death of destruction.

The procession headed with steady dignity towards a heavily reinforced doorway, constructed in the heart of the Wyvern. It was girded with mighty braces and heavy locks while in-built gun servitors sat on high, looking down the passageway with their Heavy Bolters and Missile launchers armed and ready. The walls nearby were etched with marks of aversion and anti-auspex jammers, ensuring Archeotech and psychic barricades covered the interior. Over the doorway someone had inscribed, 'Gates of Perdition' and the chattels trudged inside with grim looks of resignation and fear.

Shrios took in the scene and remarked, "Your new containment facility I presume."

"Indeed," Coluber replied, "Here shall be stored the most dangerous items taken from Athelling, those weapons even a Space Marine would hesitate to use."

Ferrac gestured at the mortals and inquired, "And these chattels?"

Coluber explained, "Their lives are forfeit, they shall be tasked with the protection and preservation of these items. No other order can override this duty; it shall be the sole endeavour of their worthless lives."

"No wonder they look so glum," Shrios muttered, "But isn't this a bit overblown, why not simply use these weapons?"

Ferrac's lip curled in disgust as he spat, "You would wield such dishonourable filth?"

Shrios frowned as he said, "Weapons are weapons, and these could mean the difference between victory and defeat."

Ferrac snarled, "These are not mere bolters or swords. To use these will sully our spirits evermore."

Yet Shrios argued, "There are plenty of threats that warrant eradication in the galaxy. Chaos incursions, Tyranid Hive Fleets, Ork Waaaghs. If you don't want to keep these relics then throw the bombs at the vilest enemies we can find, rather than let them gather dust in a vault."

The lines of chattels continued moving through the gates and Ferrac spied the three robots being dragged inside, their damaged forms reminding him of the automaton they had fought in the lost starship. As the last mortals disappeared inside he drew in a breath and said, "These weapons are tainted. We should have left them where they lay. Get rid of them before they corrupt us."

Shrios snorted, "I can't believe my ears, you would discard this might?"

Ferrac snarled, "You haven't seen them in action, the small arms were bad enough but these are too much. The Eye of Discord, Omniphages, the Nail, Continental-scaled Phospex bombs and the Soul-Eater, names best left in the dust of history."

Shrios shook his head and argued, "No different from Cyclonic torpedoes or the Life-Eater. The Imperium routinely deploys Exterminatus class weapons."

"No," Ferrac countered, "Those weapons are designed to kill, to end life quickly. These are weapons of terror and torment; they were intended to inflict suffering. The ancient ones who wielded these were no warriors but sadists; they took pleasure from the agony of their victims."

Coluber cut them off saying, "These weapons are powerful but inherently dishonourable. To use them sullies us, we would turn the Amber Vipers into gluttons of suffering and pain. We would be worse than the Marines Malevolent, worse than the Relictors or even the Traitorous Night Lords. We would become a byword for atrocity and terror, creatures who revelled in torment. No, I won't allow this to pass."

Shrios gasped, "You can't mean to get rid of them, what if we find ourselves confronting a foe who cannot be defeated? The galaxy is falling into an age of darkness, horrors beyond description flood out of the Cicatrix Maledictum. Chaos is on the rise, aliens swarm freely and Heretics abound everywhere. Without these weapons we may not have the means to survive!"

Coluber lowered his head sadly and said, "You also are correct. The scale of the threat is too vast to ignore. I cannot destroy these weapons, yet I cannot keep them either. The temptation to use them would linger over me, the thought that with a wave of my hand I could destroy any foe. How can I judge when we face a threat deserving utter destruction? How can I trust myself with such dread power? Greater men than I have faced similar challenges and failed the test."

Ferrac heard his Lord's distress and urged, "I trust your judgement."

Yet Coluber snarled, "But I don't. I erred when I thought we could manage without discipline masters in our ranks and I erred when I thought I could trust the hearts of our recruits. I am not beyond making mistakes and with such power I could make myself the next Huron Blackheart… or Abaddon. Even if I could walk that moral tightrope could the next Chapter Master after me do the same, or the one after him? It is inevitable; a day will come when a Chapter Master seeks to use these weapons to advance his own grandeur above the Emperor's.

Shrios rubbed his jaw and said, "So these weapons are too perilous to use, but too valuable to destroy. You do have a problem."

Coluber replied sternly, "But I have a solution: behold."

Coluber turned and walked down the aisle and Ferrac saw a line of Brothers standing in the shadows. They nearly disappeared into the gloom for their armour was jet black, bereft of colour, save for their left pauldrons which bore the icon of the snake and goblet in red and the helms at their belts were adorned with bloody handprints. He recognised them, how could he not, they were the disgraced Brothers of Excelsium squad. Kregulf, Berio, Radfal and Paneyr, those who had followed the Sergeant into sedition. They bore Fission-blasters, rad-grenades and a Bileflamer while Kregulf bore a crystal knife at his belt, the same one he had taken from the armoury of the Apophis.

The four fell to one knee as Coluber approached and bowed their heads in shame. Ferrac looked over the four, noting their black armour and said, "What is this?"

Coluber explained, "We have two problems: the lack of discipline in our ranks and a cache of profane weapons. Thus I have decided to kill two grots with one bolt round."

Shrios sneered, "By making these mutineers into Chaplains?"

"Quite the opposite," Coluber replied, "These four are not be honoured but punished. When I was a neophyte my training Sergeant told me a tale of the Great Crusade. The Legions were no stranger to such profane weapons and among their ranks was a select order of Brothers, tasked with their confinement and usage: the Destroyer Marines. I proclaim that a new order shall rise among us, one formed not of our best but our worst. They shall serve a living example of what happens when one strays too far, thus the Chapter shall see the fate of those who place their own glorification before their duty."

"I don't understand," Ferrac murmured.

Coluber faced the kneeling foursome and said, "Tell me truly, what do you think of these weapons?"

Kregulf lifted his head and sorrow warred with resentment as he answered, "They are loathsome unto my eye, they stink of dishonour. No one should wield this filth, better we cast them into a star than let them sully our souls."

Coluber declared, "There can be no better watchman than one who truly believes his charges must remain imprisoned. I require a guard against temptation, a sentinel against corruption: a Cerberus to stand before the Gates of Perdition."

Ferrac was stunned by the declaration and said, "You intend to make them guard this vault?"

Coluber told the four, "This shall be your punishment and your duty. Your new order shall have sole responsibility for the weapons. Only you shall have the right to judge if an enemy warrants the opening of this gate, only you can choose when to unleash the contents of these vaults. All those weapons, and any future ones you decree profane, shall be yours to guard. No man, not even I or a future Chapter Master, has the right to open that gate. Only your order and your chattels may pass through that door. Kregulf, I name you head of this new order. You shall be the Claviger: He who Holds the Keys."

Ferrac's head spun at the proclamation yet the four accepted their punishment and Kregulf said, "We accept your judgement my lord."

Coluber ordered, "Then speak the oath, as I have laid it out for you."

The four soberly intoned, "We are the custodians of desolation and destruction. There is no glory or valour in the path we tread, only death and ruin. No songs of victory echo in our wake, no glory follows our steps, only screams then silence. We are the left hand of ruin and the venom in the viper's bite. The bloody hand is our mark and our shadow casts only sorrow. With our blood is the Gate of Perdition sealed and none shall pass. We are the Cerberii."

 _Afterword_

 _What began as a little idea for a small warband has grown in ways i never expected. The Amber Vipers have developed into a fully fledged Chapter in their own right and have taken the first steps on an epic adventure. You have seen the seeds of many future stories laid here and if you care to follow these will be developed in the future._

 _The lost starship are an homage to the writings of Dmitry Freyger and if you care to read of the Spartak and the Solar Knights then please do join us on the Inquisitors Archives on Facebook._

 _The Amber Vipers will be back._


	80. Chapter 80

_*Beyond the Gates of Perdition*_

The man moved with a dreary plodding gait, taking his time to meander along. He was in no particular rush to get anywhere, for there was nowhere to go. He had walked this path over and over for weeks and it looked like he would do so for the remainder of his days. So he took his time, dragging his boots along the metal deck in the knowledge that nothing he was doing really mattered. The man was of middling years with a lean body and gaunt features. He was too young to look aged but the skin on his hands was paper-thin and his hair was thinning prematurely. His nails were yellow and his eyes watery, while he was missing many teeth. Signs of a famished upbringing and a childhood fighting for whatever scraps he could steal. His beige robe hung on him like a tent, a common shawl issued without consideration for height, weight or build. It had been given to him by his new masters and he resented it like he did everything else. His name was Lasper and he was lamenting his lot.

Lasper moved down the long corridor, seeing various items on display in alcoves on either side of the passage. There were strange weapons, canisters and devices whose function defied his understanding. Some of them made his skin crawl to look upon but others seemed unimpressive or simply broken. Lasper wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with any of this, all he had been told was to maintain the seals and wards and then been left to it. Such was life for those drafted to serve the Cerberii, given a monotonous task and then forgotten about. They would serve for life among the drab grey walls lit only by electro sconces, feeling the chill air tingle their skin as they wandered the haphazard passages where deadly items were stored. Lasper would see no faces save other chattels and lobotomised servitors, never see the stars or a planet, all he and the others would do was work in this cold vault until the end of their days.

Some of the others selected were born to serve the Amber Vipers, others were volunteers recruited on their various missions and some had been taken by force. Lasper was of the last category. He had been born on the pirate drift of Queen Deorra, growing up among the villainous cutthroats and thieves that haunted the lower levels. Like all his kin he had spent his life scraping for whatever he could get, working to earn the favour of the elite guard and get ahead of everybody trying to do the same. It had been a hard life but there had always been the consolation that they were above the slaves dragged off captured ships. Yet Lasper had one advantage, he had been taken in by a vagrant Enginseer as an apprentice and taught the worship of the Omnissiah. Lasper had once had a shot of climbing out of poverty, trading his skills for favours from his overlords. Then had come the Amber Vipers and they had burned his home to the ground, slapping him in chains and dragging them to their ships.

Lasper had found the change surprisingly easy, one set of masters for another just as brutal and disinterested in his life. He had been sure he could find a way to barter his skills for a better position among the packed chattels labouring in the ship. But just as he was coming up with a plan the Astartes had come again and rounded up hundreds of Chattels and sent them to this gaol. At first Lasper thought his skills had been recognised, that he was being elevated, but he soon realised the Amber Vipers had just grabbed the first warm bodies they could find, without any concern for aptitude or ability. Within a couple of days Lasper had realised most of the Chattels had no idea how to service this vault, to keep the wards intact or care for their charges. The Masters didn't seem to care, those black-clad warriors who roamed the interior with their bloody faceplates. Lasper couldn't even dream of escape, the doors were sealed and two warriors stood outside at all times, watching and guarding for threats.

Lasper sighed loudly and reached into a pocket, where he kept a small Cog and Skull icon of the Cult of the Machine God. He looked about and knew he would only ever see these walls, this was his prison and it was one he would never leave. Perhaps if he was cunning and could bribe a couple of men to be his brute muscle he could be running this place in a few years, under the Astartes' noses of course. Yet even that idea left him cold, bullying a few idiots and lording over a vault, was all that he could look forward to. He had skills and smarts; surely there must be more for him, something worthier of his talents. He toyed with his icon and whispered, "Omnissiah, look upon your servant with pity. Give me a sign of your favour."

Lasper walked past various items in their alcoves. Crystal orbs with swarms of chittering motes held within. An upright flask, holding a perfectly spherical glowing ball of light in perpetual stasis. A canister marked with bio-hazard warnings. A bulky cogitator squatting upon the floor. That last one looked odd in this lineup, so mundane and pitiful compared to some of the weapons on display, he thought to himself. Lastly he came to a set of alcoves where three looming robots stood upright. Their broad metal feet were set far apart and their shoulders were hunched by thick armour. Their hands were three-pronged claws, laced with power conduits. Cowling rose above their heads, which were dotted with many eye lenses and the backs of their arms were fitted with bulky blasters of some description. They looked impressive, yet damaged. Their magnificent forms were broken and cracked in many places, their interior workings exposed to the open air.

Lasper stopped to admire these, taking in their brutal shapes. Once they must have ruled the battlefield but now they were spent relics, yet the technology inside intrigued the man. He glanced up and down but as always was alone in this part of the vault, the other Chattels doing as little work as possible. Assured he was unobserved Lasper stepped nearer and stood on tiptoe to peer through a crack in the robot's armour. What he saw was a surprise; there was no organic cortex, no quivering neural mass to guide the machine. Everything he had been taught told him such a machine must have an organic component but this was entirely mechanical. Glittering molecular cogitators and shimmering quantum processors lay before his eyes, wondrous and terrible to behold. He had been taught this was blasphemy but he didn't care. Avarice stirred in his heart and he reached within, intending to take some part of the Machine God's benevolence for himself. Yet as he did so he inadvertently brushed against two protruding diodes, allowing Motive Force to flow through his nerves.

Lasper fell back with a cry and clutched at his hand, the sensation of the electric shock stealing feeling from his digits. He fell on his arse and fought back tears as cold pain chewed at his arm, but then a whirring noise cut through his agony. Lasper's eyes rose and his jaw fell slack as the towering robot before him began to emit a grinding noise. Whirring notes leaked from its broken carapace and its digits flexed as eye lenses began to twitch. Lasper desperately shuffled backwards on his rear, forgetting the pain as the Cadmus robot began to wake up.

He froze as the machine's eyes focussed upon him and then to his absolute amazement a synthetic voice issued forth, "Hyisthee Soule?"

Lasper grabbed his sacred icon and held it up praying, "Omnissiah preserve me!"

The robot didn't move but the voice switched, again and again, saying, "Ni shi Shei? Min Anat? Koj si Ti?"

Lasper grasped his talisman and pleaded, "Please don't kill me!"

The robot paused and then said, in flawless Low Gothic, "Update available: installing. Language assimilation complete. Who are you?"

Lasper gulped in bewilderment and stammered, "I… I am Lasper, I work here."

The robot glared at him as it spat, "This place is unknown and you are not an officer of the Hegemony. Where am I?"

Lasper could scarcely believe he was talking to an avatar of the Machine God and as his fear retreated a part of him began to wonder if this was the hand of the Omnissiah at work. He looked up in awe and informed it, "This is a Space Marine vessel."

The robot replied, "Space Marine, I know not that term. I cannot access the Soulbound nor reach a Solar Knight comm-net. Conclusion: I have been damaged and deactivated for an extended time, what year is this?"

Lasper swallowed as he answered, "Great vessel of the Machine God, this is the forty-second millennium."

The robot was silent for a long moment and Lasper dared to wonder if it had broken down, then just as he was daring to think this marvel was over it spat, "That won't do."

The robot suddenly took a lumbering step forward and Lasper scrambled to get out of the way as it strode to its kin. Its arms rose and its hands lifted, then small panels slid open on its palms and glowing Mechandrites emerged. They were smaller and more supple than any he had ever seen and they plunged within the other two robots, worming into their interiors. Strange lights pulsed and the tendrils writhed and Lasper realised it was making repairs to its siblings. Long seconds passed and then the other two began to shake and rumble, their eyes twitching as they awoke. The first stepped back and withdrew its mechandrites as its siblings stirred and it said, "Brontes, Arges, awaken and update your language packages."

As the machines awoke Lasper realised his prayer had been answered, the Machine God had sent him a miracle. Such wondrous technology, such divine knowledge on display. His life hadn't been worthless after all, he hadn't been dumped here by chance but brought to this place to watch the Omnissiah's creations at work. One robot moved its head and uttered, "Steropes, what has happened?"

The first one, Steropes, replied, "No data available Arges, we are heavily damaged and have been relocated against our will."

Another growled in a deeper voice, "Was it the Rangdan? Those vile fiends must have attacked us."

Steropes replied, "Brontes, what part of data unavailable could you not process?"

Brontes turned to stare at Lasper and snarled, "This one is not part of our crew. Who is this useless waste of skin and bone?!"

Lasper stammered, "I am your servant, oh Emissary of the Machine God."

All three robots peered down at him then Brontes snapped, "He speaks superstitious doggerel, I think this one is defective."

Steropes replied, "Be that as it may it seems we have been asleep for thirty-thousand years."

Heads ground around in an oddly human fashion and Arges hissed, "If I were human I would be in a state of complete denial. But still, what of the Rangdan or the colonies? Does Star Command still stand, does the Hegemony even still exist?"

Steropes replied, "Data not available and I can't find Polyphemus either. We are one heavyweight unit short, bereft of information and guidance."

Then Arges declared, "You know what we have to do."

Yet Brontes growled, "No, not that. I can't stand that sanctimonious cur."

Lasper was lost, unable to follow the conversation as Arges countered, "Cadmus protocol are in effect, we must establish contact."

Brontes snapped, "You know how insufferable he is, always thinking he's better than us. Giving orders like we are footslogging Men of Iron. We do all the killing while that glorified garbage scow does nothing but float in the void looking shiny."

Yet Steropes cut them both off, "This isn't up for debate, we are doing this. There should be a back-up copy on the secondary core."

Lasper scrambled out of the way as the three robots set off with lumbering footsteps, their tread ringing on the floor like bells clapping. They strode a short way until they reached the plain cogitator then the three of them lifted their hands and extruded mechandrites. These wormed into the cogitator, connecting to its various parts and pulsing with frantic motion as they made some microscopic repairs to the mechanism. Lasper watched in awe as the cogitator began to click and whir, glowing in places as its functionality climbed to full potency. Then a glowing Holo-projector on the front began to shimmer.

Lasper fell to his knees in worshipful awe as a human figure coalesced out of pure light, life-sized and sharp-edged as no Imperial projection could match. The man born in the light was in his prime, with dark skin and a bald head. He had a sharp nose and a strong jawline, smooth and bereft of stubble. His eyes were dark and filled with a cold intelligence while he affected a black suit with a plunging v-neck. It was oddly plain for Imperial fashion, lacking gold embroidery or heavy jewels, yet well-tailored and it fitted him perfectly. An odd detail to include in a projection. The three robots stepped back and withdrew their mechandrites as Steropes declared, "Soulbound is online."

Lasper was filled with wonder as he breathed, "The Omnissiah favours me, it is a Binaric miracle."

The projection blinked and then in a smooth voice told him, "I am awake and you will tell me everything."

Lasper eagerly stated, "Oh Emissary of the Machine God, I am your humble servant. But tell me who you are."

The figure affected a condescending smirk as it told him, "I am Apophis and we have much work ahead of us."


	81. Chapter 81

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 81**

The wind tore at his face as they flew, cold and filled with acrid scents. It filled his nose with the smell of war and death while the speed of their passage made tears prick the corners of his eyes. His every breath was snatched from the rushing wind, filling his lungs with the ashy embers of burning vehicles and roasting flesh. He could have donned his helm and peered through its autosenses, but today he wanted to experience the rush of combat first hand, to feel the visceral rush of combat without obstruction. Chapter Master Coluber was riding into battle and he would not hide his face.

Coluber was a veteran Astartes, with harrowed features and a thin face. His eyes were calculating and his brow etched by terrible decisions and grievous sacrifices. Yet the set of his jaw revealed his determination and his dream of building a better future, no matter how much blood he had to shed. His armour was gloriously decorated, shining in the gloomy light of this world and fitted with a Null Collar behind his head. At his sides he bore a Volkite pistol and a relic sword, a curving blade of great renown, 'Venom' it was called and it had served him well in countless battles.

Below his feet his personal Land Speeder 'Drakones' roared, turbines flinging it across the ground on shimmering anti-grav fields. The craft bore the heraldry of the Amber Vipers, though they were not its original colours they suited it well and it tore across the heavens in a blur of vibrant orange. Like most property of the Chapter the Land Speeder had been taken from elsewhere and repurposed. The scout bay in the back had been expanded to fit three Space Marines, the front bore a twin-linked assault cannon and the gunner gripped a hefty plasma cannon in his gauntlets. Behind Coluber's head thrummed a pulsing archeo-tech relic daubed a 'Frost-field' generator. Truly Drakones was a worthy chariot, which was fortunate as they faced a deadly enemy this day.

Drakones reached the apex of its run and banked about, giving Coluber a perfect view of the enemy. In a shallow valley a horde of Orks was racing forward, waving cleavers and shooters in the air as they screamed in fury. Their feral faces were filled with the joy of violence, fangs bloody and meaty fists gripping crude weapons. The greenskins were covered in leather hides and studded metal plates, sometimes riveted into their flesh. Among their packed ranks Battlewagons and Trukks rolled, crushing those too slow under their treads. On their backs scores of Greenskins swung shootas about, firing wildly into the air, not caring if they hit their own kind. There must have been tens of thousands of Orks pouring into the barren valley, the horde stretching back to the arboreal forests that covered the world of Kimdaria.

Besides Coluber Brother-Exemplar Seyda stood proud in his Mark VIII plate, his helm fitted with a forward-swept horsehair crest and he cried, "So many of them, so many heads to claim!"

On the other side Brother-Exemplar Vardat agreed, "Truly a glorious fight!"

Coluber grinned at his bodyguard's words and concurred, "Let us reap some more. Brother Rinda, bring us to them. Brother Hyia, ready the guns!"

Drakones banked under its driver's urging, making Coluber's world spin. He held on with one hand and planted his boots firmly as the Land Speeder came to face the Orks. Turbines roared behind his head and the chariot shot forward, metres from the ground but hurtling along at the speed of an aircraft. Only Space Marines could endure such arduous manoeuvres, only they having the stamina and reaction times to steer so perilous a course. It made Coluber's hearts sing, finally a righteous battle of the sort Space Marines were made for. Mankind's champions set against Xenos horrors, exactly the kind of fight the Amber Vipers had longed for.

As Drakones hurtled towards the foe bullets flew at them. Badly aimed and erratic but deadly nonetheless. They filled the air with lead, too many to dodge, yet they harmed the chariot not. As they closed the Frost-field flared, its arcane Machine Spirit drawing molecular energy from the substance of the rounds. Unlike most energy shields the archeotech device drew energy from the target, the greater the velocity the greater the drain and the bullets were travelling so very fast. Rounds met the edge of the field and were drained of all energy, their molecular bonds stilled and their tensile strength reduced to nothing. Bullets became as brittle as glass and pattered harmlessly off the sides of Drakones, doing no harm.

"Return fire!" Coluber roared and the assault cannons flared. Spinning barrels shot rounds at a fantastic rate, chewing through the Ork horde. As they fired the Frost-field flickered, dimming for a microsecond to let rounds pass through unharmed. It had taken three years of careful experimentation, the calculations nearly breaking their calculus-savants, but eventually they had found a way to fire from inside the field. Screaming rounds smashed into Ork bodies, scything through flesh and leather to rend them apart. Orks were cleaved in two by flaring contrails, falling apart in chunks of gore. Meanwhile Brother Hyia let forth blasts of searing Plasma, shining bolts of star-hot fury punching into a Battlewagon and blowing it up in a dirty fireball.

Flames and blood were left in Drakones' wake as the Land Speeder hurtled over the horde, ploughing a bloody furrow across the width of the valley. They shot up the hillside and banked, letting Coluber see the damage they had wrought. The Orks had been bloodied but not defeated, it would take far more than that to break the Waaagh of Warboss Wurd'eye. The horde closed over the wound in its mass, racing up the valley as if no harm had been done. They pressed forward, eager to reach the end of the valley, where the biggest fight raged.

Coluber's eyes lifted and he saw Primus Cohort fully engaged. Sixty amber-hued Astartes holding the hilltops with resolute fury. Bolters fired ceaselessly, flamers spat burning Promethium and missile launchers fired into the packed ranks of Greenskins, bringing the Emperor's fury upon the Xenos. Three Rhino's loomed behind them, adding what little firepower their storm bolters could to the fray. Battle-Captain Ferrac was with them, his assault squad flying from place to place, always heading for the fiercest fighting. It was a bold and stalwart defence, the finest of the Chapter fighting proudly under the gloom of the Grim Pall nebula as Astartes should. Coluber's hearts ached with pride, yet for all their courage they were but sixty against tens of thousands. However they did not fight alone, for the Knight Engines of House Mortan stood with them.

Arrayed along the hillside giant humanoid war machines let loose their fury. Six lances of Knights, some thirty war machines in black and gold heraldry, holding the line. Booming Battlecannons blew holes into the horde, screaming reaper cannons chewed hundreds apart and hissing Thermal lances melted looted tanks and trukks to slag. Great was the clamour of battle as their weapons roared, laying low the Xenos with wanton frenzy. The Knights added the blare of their vox-horns to the frenzy, voices ringing loud in defiance, as well they should. Kimdaria was their homeworld and it was to their aid that the Amber Vipers had come, sailing far to help repulse the invasion of the planet.

It was a brave and noble stand, worthy of any Chapter and the Amber Vipers has never been nobler in action or cause. But the Orks weren't about to give up so easily. Over the horde flew a fat-bellied bomber, its wings laden with incendiary bombs and with teams of Grots hanging in turret mounts, chattering gleefully in anticipation of the destruction to come. It belched black smoke from its whining engines and were it to reach the line the Imperials would surely have been broken, but they were not unprepared.

From behind the line there was a flash of light and a streak of exhaust shot upwards. A Skyspear missile, fired from the prized anti-air Hunter 'Tarasque', another relic acquired under dubious circumstances. The missile blazed across the sky and smote the lumbering bomber before it could hope to react. The left wing blew clean off and the bomber fell from the sky, tumbling over and over until it slammed into the ground in a blazing fireball. Orks cooked alive as flames engulfed them, raging infernos dousing thousands in fire and sending hundreds more fleeing like running torches.

"See how they burn!" Seyda shouted in elation.

"They have tasted fire, now let them feel the burn of ice," Coluber cried, "Coldsnap manoeuvre!"

At his command Drakones lined up for another pass, but this time dropping to a mere metre over the head of the Orks. Turbines roared furiously as the chariot built up speed, accelerating to maximum velocity. Coluber's head was snapped back by the sudden burst of speed and his eyes watered as the wind sank claws into his face. The Orks blurred as they careered headlong at the horde and shot over their heads, barely high enough to avoid crashing. As they did so the Frost-field crackled with eldritch power. Crafted by forgotten science to react to relative velocities the speed of Drakones' passage cause it to flare wildly. Molecular energy was stolen from the skin and bone of the Orks as they shot by, Hearts flash-froze, brains became encased in frost and lungs filled with ice. So the Land Speeder roared overhead, leaving a trail of icy-statues in its wake, still holding aloft their weapons and roaring in frozen fury.

Drakones travelled the breadth of the horde in moments, banking hard to come about for another pass. Yet as it did so it shed precious momentum, slowing down as it turned. just as it did so a pack of Ork Stormboyz shot out of the horde. Each one was equipped with a thundering Rokkit pack, a comically large missile strapped to its back that threw it into the sky with wild abandon. They veered towards Drakones, catching it at the moment of greatest vulnerability. It shouldn't have worked, by all right the Frost-field should have annihilated them. The angles were too extreme, the relative velocities too finely matched to calculate and yet somehow the Orks did it. With that bizarre mix of feral cunning, bestial strategy and sheer dumb luck that defined their race the Stormboyz made it through with only minor frostbite and a dozen slammed into Drakones.

Coluber was nearly thrown from his perch as Drakones rocked under the impacts and tilted dangerously to one side, but he held firm as he roared, "Draw swords!" He matched deeds to words, drawing Venom one-handed and lashing out at the first Ork to come near him. A sooty face, with leering fangs came over the side of the chariot, only to be sliced apart by a sweep of Venom's edge. Coluber snarled as the Greenskin fell away missing its cranium but another barrelled upwards, trying to sink a crude knife into his face. Coluber swayed back but was brought up short as his backpack slammed into the rear of the compartment. The knife flashed for his eye and the tip of it scored over his brow, leaving a trail of blood on his head.

The Ork leered as it drew back for another blow, its eyes were hidden behind thick goggles yet still its hatred was clear. Coluber saw himself reflected in those glasses, bloodied and pinned, unable to swing his sword in the cramped confines, yet his hatred was no less. He suddenly reversed his stance, driving his skull forward to ram into the Orks' face. Genhanced bone impacted with the force of a hammer and the goggles shattered, driving splinters of glass into the Ork's eyeballs. The Greenskin bellowed as it reared back, clawing at its own face and Coluber's arm swung wide, bringing Venom's edge about to cleave off the foe's head.

The Stormboy fell away and Coluber spun about, looking for the next foe, only to find his guards had it in hand. Brother-Exemplar Seyda was swinging a long-handled glaive about, its tip shimmering with a contact Volkite field. Burst-lances the Amber Vipers had daubed them and the thermal edge cleaved through flesh with a deflagrating effect, reducing skin and bone to clouds of sooty ash. With great sweeps Seyda cleared the sides of Drakones, each swing bursting Orks into vapour. Meanwhile Brother-Exemplar Vardat tackled a pair of Orks who had climbed onto the rear and were trying to rip apart the turbines. Two lunges speared into their hearts, tearing their torso to shreds and they were no more.

Another Ork was trying to rip Hyia's head off but the gunner merely drew his Fang and stabbed the knife into the eye of the Greenskin. Compressed gas ejected a stream of venom into its skull and the head came apart, blowing into chunks of dissolving gore. Drakones righted as the weight fell away but Coluber spied one last Ork clinging to the side, holding on by one hand as its legs dangled over thin air. Coluber saw its brutal strength in that grip and knew it would make a fine challenge but he didn't give it a chance to recover, Xenos deserved no such consideration. He leaned out of the compartment and casually swept Venom through its wrist, sending the Ork plummeting to its death with a scream of frustrated rage.

Brother Rinda wrestled Drakones back to level flight, yet during their brief tussle something had changed. From the forest emerged a clanking and wheezing contraption. It was a massive stage, riding high on a hundred spiked wheels that rolled over Greenskins with utter disdain for the lives it was ending. The edges of it were lined with gunz and shootas and countless Greenskins clung to its flanks, waving crude choppas in the air as they chanted "Ere we go! Ere we go! Ere we go!" On its spine were a dozen brass orbs, each five metres wide and crackling with green electricity as Waaagh energy flowing through them. And right at the back was a raised throne, upon which sat a hulking Ork, bigger and more threatening than any other. He was surrounded by a nimbus of shimmering warp-power, focussed and honed through the arcane mechanisms of his insane invention. The chariot of WarBoss Wurd'eye, barrelling through the horde in a headlong charge towards the raging battle.

"The warboss shows himself!" Seyda cried.

Coluber's teeth drew back in anticipation as he opened his vox and signalled, "The target reveals himself. Knights of House Mortan, Brothers of Secundus Cohort, the hour is at hand. Launch the second wave!"


	82. Chapter 82

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 82**

The Attack bike jostled wildly as its fat tires bounced over the packed dirt. The jarring motion shook his genhanced bones but he compensated with Transhuman skill, holding the heavy bolter steady despite the buffeting. The throaty roar of the Promtheium engine was inches from his ear, but the Lyman's implant compensated effortlessly. Countless hours of training, gene-forging and years of practice meant Brother Glord was not troubled by a rough ride.

To his left Brother Larus steered with consummate skill, keeping up with the lighter bikes of Secundus Cohort without a qualm. The pair of them had fought side by side for years and they knew each other well. Larus was a grim sort, without any imagination or sense of humour but Glord had more than enough for the both of them. Around them the rest of their squad raced, their own Bikes roaring along at top speed. There was Joffel, the glory-hungry hothead of the squad. Beyond was Tebes, a morose and fatalistic warrior but unrelenting in his zeal. To the other side Kazao rode with his helmet tightly fixed, an aberrant Astartes cursed by mutated gene-seed but determined to fight as well as any of them. Finally at the fore rode Sergeant Reddam, their veteran leader with his power spear slung over his back as he rode for the horizon.

Glord grinned in anticipation and shouted, "A good day for a fight!"

Over the roar of the engines Larus snapped, "Concentrate on your shooting."

Glord scoffed, "Come on, crack a smile. This is the most glorious fight of our lives, revel in it!"

It seemed Sergeant Reddam was listening for he yelled, "Emperor Wept, focus, I won't be shamed before the whole of Secundus and our allies!"

That made Glord's eyes slide to examine the rest of their force. Alongside Reddam's squad rode a score of other squads. Amber Vipers riding bikes and attack bikes in their light scout-armour. Space Marines gripped handlebars fiercely and gunned their engines, racing along, eager for the fray. Over their heads trailed Vulture Gunships, idling behind so they would hit the Orks in one massive wave. This was the entirety of Secundus Cohort, the fast-attack division of the Chapter and never before had they fought as a cohesive unit. Secundus typically fought in long-ranging lone squads, sowing bedlam and dismay, but today they fought as single Lance. It was unprecedented but long hoped for, the dream of the Amber Vipers to fight as true Astartes finally made real. Today they were counted as real warriors of the Emperor, by themselves and their allies.

Glord's head turned fractionally to behold the mighty Knight Engines of House Mortan. They were at the centre of the line, some dozen steeds charging at top speed. With great bounds of their mechanical legs they raced forward, each footstep ringing through the air like a clocktower bell. Metal faceplates cast fierce visages across the line as the gloom of the Grim Pall nebula overhead made their carapaces appear as the night sky, complete with twinkling stars as diffracted light penetrated their ion shields. From their arms hung doughty reaper blades and crackling Thunderstrike gauntlets, twitching as they anticipated the battle to come. Glord had never beheld such power before, Duke Vertus of Kimdaria himself, alongside the noblest warriors of his court. They loomed over the Astartes and his heart swelled with pride to be fighting among them.

Glord let loose a laugh as he cried, "Who shall claim the greatest tally of kills: Us or the Knights?"

"It doesn't matter," Larus growled, "So long as the Orks are dead."

Glord grinned as he quipped, "Care to place a wager?"

Their exchange was interrupted as Reddam barked, "Make ready, the enemy is in sight. The word is given, attack!"

Glord gripped his Heavy Bolter tighter as they surged forward, heading into the fray. Ahead a sea of greenskins awaited, the bestial Ork menace in all its vile savagery. Glord could see the endless numbers pouring out of the arboreal forests, running on foot or carried on the backs of Trukks and battlewagons. At the flanks raced warbikes and buggies, pressing on with eager cries of feral joy. The cause of their delight was obvious, the stand of Primus Cohort and the bulk of Mortan's surviving Knights. They had presented a battle too fierce for the Ork to pass up, their races' instinctive lust for violence and destruction drawing them like moths to a flame. They had come in their multitudes to join the fight and so too Warboss Wurd'eye had come in person. The vile leader of this Waaagh that threatened to lay waste Kimdaria exposing himself. One swift charge could kill him and break the Orks, leaving them easy prey to be mopped up, the Imperials just had to fight through ten thousand Orks first.

Reddam yelled, "Prepare to engage. Remember Duke Vertus has claimed the right to kill Wurd'eye, we are to defend his rear. Draw the Orks away from the Knights, no matter the cost!"

Glord held onto his Heavy Bolter and his usual good humour faded as he intoned, "Emperor of Mankind, guide my aim so I may bring low your enemies. Bless my bolt-rounds so they may bring ruin unto the foes of Man and if I fall then know that I died in glorious service unto you."

Suddenly the Vultures accelerated, burning hard as they raced free of the line. Waves of underslung rocket pods let rip, flinging contrails into the horde as chin turrets blazed. The barrage smote the edge of the horde with fiery destruction, blowing Orks apart and flipping Trukks over. Body parts flew high and blood mixed with oil and soot, creating a shower of disgusting filth that pattered down on the heads of the Greenskins. The Orks finally deigned to notice the second force racing for their flank and hundreds of them peeled off to engage, waving choppas in the air. Yet now the cannons of the Knights spoke. Shells flew deep into the horde, making fiery explosions erupt in the masses of foes. Thermal lances cooked battlewagons to slag and a single Knight Preceptor let off a volley of las-fire, spears of brilliant energy lighting up the grim darkness with deadly force. Orks fell in droves before the onslaught but their numbers were endless and their courage was fired by the destruction, not diminished.

Glord counted down the distance as the Greenskins turned to engage then he opened fire. The Heavy Bolter roared as it spat thick shells into the mass of foes, screaming rounds inundating the Greenskins with mass-reactive shells. A moment later the bolters of the bikes opened fire, blazing fiercely in a thunderous retort. A horizontal rain smote the horde, scything them down by the hundred as Secundus Cohort carved a grievous wound into their side. Glord fired ceaselessly, sweeping his weapon back and forth, culling vile aliens with relentless fury. Closer and closer they came, until it seemed they would run headlong into the packed ranks and still they fired, every second ending a score more Orks. Glord fired into the heaving mass, offended by their vile faces and lumpish silhouettes, a hideous mockery of the perfect human form. Then just as it seemed they would dive into the sea of green Reddam yelled, "Break formation!"

Instantly Secundus Cohort peeled off, parting like a school of fish before an ocean predator. They turned to run alongside the flank of the horde and from their centre burst free the Knights. The mighty war machines dove into the fray with Reaper blades roaring, dicing Orks with effortless ease. Stubbers blazed, metal feet stomped mobs into paste while Trukks were torn asunder by metal fists. With vox-horns blaring like silver clarions Duke Vertus led his Knights into the heart of the enemy, scything deeply into the horde in his effort to reach Wurd'eye.

Glord lost sight of the Knights as Secundus harried the Ork's flanks, drawing as many away as they could. He swung his weapon right and held it steady as the barrel spewed rounds in a torrent. Everywhere bikes raced to and fro, hitting hard and evading counter strikes while Vultures raced overhead, raining down fire. The charge had cut a deadly wound into the horde but the Orks knew only savage glee at battle having found them so soon and they turned to engage with roars of joy.

A pack of warbikes raced up from the rear, meaty paws gripping handlebars as shootas blazed. Bizarre mixes of spiked wheels, grinding treads and broad-rollers drove them forward, chewing the ground to shreds. One bike was nothing but a huge wheel, a unicycle four metres tall with the driver sitting high atop a smoking engine. The Orks laughed as they raced to the fray, showering bullets upon the Astartes. Glord heard bullets pinging off his attack bike and saw a few bikers fall to the onslaught but he had no time to check on their fates for the Orks were upon them.

A warbike roared at them, driver clenching a smoking cherut cigar inbetween its fangs as it fired its shootas. Glord could see the savage glee of the enemy in its beady eyes and he instantly swung the heavy bolter about, putting a half-dozen rounds into its front. The warbike took a hit to its front tire and flipped over, sending the rider headfirst into the ground. The Ork may have survived the initial impact but it certainly did not survive having its own bike smash down upon it an instant later, sending a spray of blood into the air.

Around them the squad fought on, meeting speeding Orks with equal velocity. Reddam was charging headlong at an Ork, his spear clenched under his arm like a prehistoric horseman jousting for the amusement of his king. The Ork bellowed in anticipation as it waved a choppa overhead, only to be cruelly disappointed as the power spear plunged into its chest, ripping it off its bike with a length of metal sticking out its back. Elsewhere Joffel raced behind another bike, this one with a rear-gunner standing on a platform suspended between caterpillar tracks, swinging a Big Shoota to and fro. In his hands was a chitin bonesword and he swung it low as he raced past, striking the links of the caterpillar tracks. Bolts flew free and suddenly the bike was running on one track. The driver tried to wrench his steering wheel about but could not stop his ride flipping over, sending both Orks into a death-roll of flesh and metal.

Meanwhile Tebes was picking off Orks one by one, eschewing fancy moves he merely pointed his bike at Greenskin foes and showered them with bursts from his bolters. Not flashy or impressive by any means, but his kill count was already twice anyone else's and rising. While he did this Kazao steered for the bouncing unicycle, coming at it from the side. His grenade launcher rose fractionally and a Krak round went sailing high, striking the Ork's ride in the engine and blowing it apart in a shower of spinning metal.

Suddenly Glord was nearly thrown from his seat as an impact crashed into the attack bike. He looked over Larus's shoulder and beheld a grinning Ork slamming into them, it's red warbike throwing its bulk against them. The Ork tried to ram them again but Larus gunned his engine, pulling ahead fractionally. However the Ork swiftly matched their velocity, keeping pace with ease as it cried, "Red uns' go fasta!"

Glord couldn't bring the Heavy Bolter to bear so he reached down to his hip and drew a bolt pistol. He instantly lifted it over Larus' back and fired a single round into the Greenskin's face. The mass-reactive smashed through the skull then exploded, spraying brains and blood over a wide area. The Ork was left a headless corpse upon its bike, hands still gripping the throttle, causing it to race off in a straight line as the Attack bike turned away.

Glord looked about for the next foe but was pulled up short when he saw what had happened while they skirmished. Deep in the horde the Knights of House Mortan were fighting furiously, wading through the massed Orks with tremendous footsteps. They were brave and bold but what they faced was beyond them.

On his macabre stage warboss Wurd'eye stood surrounded by crackling Waaagh energies, the foul misbegotten manifestation of the collective Ork psyche. A nimbus of green energies played around the war-stage, surrounding it like a void shield. Into that miasma the Knights had charged and yet as they did so green tendrils wrapped themselves around the limbs of their steeds, dragging on them like quicksand. The Knights pushed into the aura like men wading through mud, but every step saw the resistance increase and their pace slowed to a crawl. At their head Duke Vertus slogged on, spurring his Engine with all his will but he could not advance and the Knights were left vulnerable.

The brass orbs on the war-stage flared with chains of lighting, then a green discharge lashed out, connecting with a Knight on the left flank. Ion shields proved useless as metal parted like cloth before scissors and the Knight fell, cleaved in two at the waist. Glord gasped at the sight but Wurd'eye laughed scornfully as another discharge of psychic might was let loose, and another and another. Knights exploded, their steeds smote most cruelly as the power of the Waaagh laid the bravest of men low. Glord could scarcely believe his eyes, he would not have thought it was possible, but the Knight's charge had indeed failed and hundreds of Orks were closing in on their rear, eager to climb high and rip the survivors from their Throne Mechanicums. The conclusion was inescapable, the Knights couldn't beat Wurd'eye alone and if the Warboss did not fall then the battle was lost.

"Turn and engage!" Reddam yelled, "Free the surviving Knights!"

But Joffel countered, "No, look up!"

"What are you…" Reddam barked but then uttered, "Throne, no, not them."

Larus glanced up then said, "Glord, you have to see this."

Glord fired ceaselessly with his Heavy Bolter as he snarled, "I'm busy here!"

But Larus only replied, "You really have to see this."

Glord spared a half-second to look up, then his jaw fell in shock. High above a tiny silhouette was growing, swelling into a doughty orbital lifter, still streaming hot vapours from re-entry. It was wider and more cumbersome than a Thunderhawk but far more heavily armoured, covered in broad ablative plates that could shrug off almost anything. It shimmered with anti-grav fields and from its stubby wings hung racks of fat ordnance. It was pitch-black all over but Glord's genhanced eyesight could pick out the snake and goblet emblem etched in red on the flanks and the front ramp bore the mark of a bloody hand.

"Oh no," Glord breathed in dismay, "It can't be bad enough for them to get involved."

"It is," Larus breathed, "It truly is."

Glord could only watch in growing dread as on wings of doom the Order of the Cerberii descended to join the fray.


	83. Chapter 83

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 83**

Coluber could scarcely believe it. His jaw hung slackly as shock ran through him. He had given no order for the Order of the Cerberii to deploy, but then they didn't need one. They were an order apart from the Amber Vipers, a punishment detail charged with safeguarding the vilest weapons in the Chapter's arsenal. Only they could decide if a foe merited the total destruction their weapons could unleash. Not even Coluber could command them to open those vaults, that was the whole point of them. Only twice in the last three years had they deployed and each time they had left salted earth in their wake, toxic wastelands where none dared tread.

The Cerberii fell from high orbit streaming flames from their craft. Doombringer it was named, an Iapetus class anti-grav hauler, refitted for combat. The doughty craft was thickly armoured and many turrets hung from its sides and roof, heavy bolters and las-talons creating a web of defence. Yet those were mere toys compared to the cargo within, the toxic weapons denied to any save those who bore the mark of the Bloody Hand.

As Coluber watched the black craft spread its wings and from them rippled waves of rockets. Fat missiles dove for the ground, their casings inscribed with warnings and portents of doom. The Orks barely noticed the craft, so consumed were they by the fight, but they were cruelly surprised as the ordnance detonated over their heads. From the shells showered a deluge of toxic bile, lethal concoctions of poisonous sludge, burning acids and radioactive filaments. The first Orks hit were doused in corrosive acids and dissolved into screaming puddles of gore, even their tough hides unable to withstand the alchemic brews. Those further out died less quickly, lungs rotting and eyeballs dribbling from withering skulls.

Across the battlefield the Orks drew back, shocked by the vile nature of the carnage. Orks live to fight, revelling in the hot rush of combat, but this was enough to give even them pause. Black veins began to worm across the skin of Orks nearby as hard radiation swept the valley and limbs trembled for the first time in their short lives as cellular membranes came under attack. Even flying above the field on Drakones Coluber felt the foul touch of rads, triggering his Melachromic implant and he hurriedly fitted his helm, sealing himself off from outside air.

His vision hazed for a moment as his autosenses calibrated, then the world snapped into focus, accompanied by the blaring alerts of environmental hazards and the clicking of his rad counter. He looked about and saw a great series of craters had been punched into the mass of the horde, blackened pits of festering malignancy that not even Orks dared cross.

He sternly ordered, "Stay away from that."

"You don't have to tell me," muttered Brother Rinda as he steered Drakones around the edges of the Greenskin horde.

The battle atop the hilltops still raged and the Knights of the second wave fought on, but the Orks were bewildered and confused, unable to focus properly on one foe. Into that mass Doombringer fell, Heavy bolters sweeping clear a landing site. Landing claws extended and under the extended cockpit a ramp lowered, allowing the passengers within to disembark. Coluber saw five Astartes in black march down the ramp, each bearing a bloodied hand upon their faceplates. In their arms lay cumbersome rifles, that leaked wicked red light. Behind them lumbered three Battle-automata, Cadmus Robots, twice the height of a Space Marine and fitted with larger versions of the weapons. Fission-blasters they were called, a debased version of plasma weapons, as hostile to the wielder as the target.

The Orks turned to meet this fresh intrusion, faces filling with bestial rage as they ran for the small party. Yet the Cerberii did not lift their voices in challenge. With silent disdain for the foe, they lifted their weapons and opened fire. Searing red blasts of crackling lethality slammed into the Ork horde, punching clean through greenskin bodies and burrowing into the packed masses behind. Orks fell with steaming holes in their chests, missing heads and limbs as ravaging blasts sundered flesh and leather armour. The Cerberii targeted the mass of troops while the Cadmus robots destroyed trukks and looted tanks, smashing through armour plate like it was tissue paper. Coluber had no idea how the Cerberii had reactivated those Battle-Automata but their might was undeniable, mowing down Greenskins left, right and centre.

The Orks reeled from the onslaught, unable to match the firepower set against them. As the barrage continued the background radiation grew worse and worse. Each shot leaving behind lingering rads, shimmering particles of radioactive fallout that polluted flesh and bone. Already the battlefield was awash with toxic contamination, sickening the Orks and making them falter and still the Cerberii fired, not relenting in their vehement hate for the Xenos. Their Order's mandate was clear, they only deployed when a foe warranted total extermination and they would not quit the field until every enemy was slain.

Coluber was troubled by the vileness they unleashed, even though their kind had been his idea, their use of dishonourable weapons left a bad taste in his mouth. Yet he could not deny the Cerberii were rending the foe into nothing, their foul weapons too much to withstand. This was why their order existed, to do what the Amber Vipers could not and should not do. They embraced dishonour so others would not have to. Quietly he whispered, "Oh inglorious bearers of woe and the bloodied hand, bestow your wrath upon the unrighteous enemies of man. Sully not your Brothers with the sin of your passing and deliver the judgement the enemy so richly deserves."

"Orders?" queried Seyda from beside him. Coluber looked over the battlefield and saw the Orks reeling, dismayed and confused by the sudden assault. They did not know whether to turn and risk the toxic death in their midst or press on towards the apex of the hill and seek the battle that yet raged there. But further back the War-stage of Wurd'eye still loomed, blazing with etheric energies. Even as he watched the few surviving Knights pressed forward, struggling to meet the warboss and end him but it was a forlorn struggle, doomed to fail.

"Take me to the boss!" Coluber shouted. Instantly Drakones veered, skimming fast over the horde in an erratic course. Bullets flashed on the Frost-field and a Vulture gunship screamed overhead, chin turret blazing as Drakones slipped by. The mobs blurred as they disappeared under its chassis but Coluber only had eyes for Wurd'eye, determined to end this foe.

Coluber gripped Venom in one hand as they dodged to and fro, evading the worst of the incoming fire. Ork gunners along the edges of the War-stage saw him coming and swung their weapons to bear, filling the air with lead but between the speed of Drakones and the Frost-field the craft emerged unscathed. The war-stage loomed in Coluber's eyes and then suddenly they were over its bulk, right alongside the crackling brass orbs.

Coluber jerked forward as Drakones decelerated, coming to a relative halt. Instantly Coluber and his bodyguards were moving, leaping clear to drop to the deck. A wave of coldness swept over him as they passed through the Frost-field and then his boots touched down. A roar overhead signalled Drakones racing off, veering away to rejoin the battle but Coluber had no time to watch for the Orks were upon them. Barely had his boots hit the decking when a wave of filthy Greenskins raced at the trio, covered in stinking leathers and clutching brutal cleavers and knives. They abandoned the side guns to grapple with the boarders, relishing the battle in their midst.

Coluber met the first with a sweep of Venom that opened it from neck to naval and tore off the arm of the next to come at him. More barrelled in, threatening to overwhelm him but he fell back, sweeping Venom in great arcs that chopped off arms and disembowelled savage Xenos. Suddenly he sensed empty space behind him and knew he had reached the side of the war-stage, one more step would see him plummet to the ground rolling under them. He readied himself to stand and fight to the death but suddenly Seyda was before him, Burst-lance blurring as he struck. With wild yells the Brother-Exemplars placed themselves into the path of the Orks as Vardat shouted, "We'll hold them off, go get Wurd'eye!"

Coluber wasted no time on futile denials, turning and running for the rear of the stage. He galloped past crackling brass orbs, lightning arcing over his head in dazzling flashes. A moment later he pulled up at the rear, finding himself confronting the biggest Ork he'd ever seen. Wurd'eye was taller than a Space Marine and broader than a Dreadnought with arms that seemed to lack the dense muscle of the typical Ork but replaced brute force with whiplash speed. One fist held a sceptre made of mismatched junk and the other swung a spiked ball on a length of chain. His head was crowned by brass spikes, that shimmered with Waaagh energy and his eyes were glowing with green potential, raw force spilling out like an overflowing bucket.

Wurd'eye turned to face him and snarled, "Little bug!" A flash of green power erupted from his brow, forming a blast that would incinerate Coluber. Yet as it closed his Null Collar pulsated with arcane might, rebuffing the psychic blast effortlessly. Green energy shot away, earthing amid the horde and killing a score of Orks running alongside the war-stage. In response Coluber snatched up his Volkite pistol and unleashed a blast of ravening power. Yet Wurd'eye had protection of his own and the beam spilled off a shimmering shield, like oil on water.

"Blade to blade then," Coluber hissed as he spun Venom around his hand.

"No one beats Wurd'eye, I iz da hand of Mork!" the Boss bellowed.

"Cold hearts," Coluber intoned as he raised Venom before his eyes, "And fast blades."

Wurd'eye charged, racing headlong at Coluber in a mad rush. The Ork rampaged like an Ambull, unstoppable mass careening at Coluber so fast it was hard to believe. Wurd'eye swung his sceptre overhead, intending to smash the Astartes into mush, yet Coluber was no longer there. At the last instant he threw himself aside, dodging the charge and as he did so Venom flickered, lashing out at eye-watering speed. Wurd'eye's hand was sliced neatly off, sceptre and all, to crash to the deck and roll over the side of the stage.

"Me hand! Iz kill ya for dat!" Wurd'eye bellowed as he swung his chained mace horizontally. Coluber nearly lost his head as the chain whirled about and he only just avoided decapitation by ducking low. Insanely fast the chain came back at him, forcing him to leap aside, then jump back again. On and on the Ork came, swinging the chain about itself with dazzling speed. Coluber was forced to retreat, falling back aghast at the warboss' velocity. Orks were immensely strong and brutal but Wurd'eye's speed was incredible, a whirlwind of blows that left no room for a counter. Coluber couldn't even see an opening, unable to close through the lashing whip of steel that surrounded the Ork.

He felt the battle turning against him and changed tactics, trying to angle Venom into the path of the chain. One clean hit could sever the links and leave Wurd'eye unarmed but the Ork saw the move coming. A snigger was all the warning Coluber got as the Ork jerked its arm and suddenly the spiked head flew past his guard, sailing around Venom to slam into his chest. A force like a freight train smashed into Coluber, cracking Ceramite and breaking his genhanced ribs. Stars flashed behind his eyes and he tasted blood in his mouth as the Ork landed a blow that would have shattered a Rhino's hull.

Coluber staggered back, chest bursting with agony. He felt his right lung filling with blood as shattered ribs dug in and his multi-lung inflated to keep him alive. Wurd'eye leered as he pulled back for the finishing blow and Coluber knew it was death. He readied his soul for the final moment, preparing to attempt one last blow before the end came but before he could move the war-stage shook under his boots, reeling like an aquatic boat on an ocean swell.

Both leaders staggered as the stage rocked and Coluber's head snapped about to behold a wonder. A towering Knight loomed over the ramshackle machine, Duke Vertus' steed, with Reaper blade spinning. It has been his strike that had rocked the war-stage and he drew back his arm for another blow, bringing it down on the arcane brass orbs with a vox-blare of vengeful fury. Brass shattered under the blow, tearing apart and spilling green energies in all direction. Duke Vertus roared mechanically as he drew back for another strike, intending to rip the war-stage in two and it seemed nothing could stop him.

Wurd'eye raged at the damage done to his chariot, waving his arms in the air as he roared, "Oi! Get off me stage! Dat's mine!" Coluber saw the Ork's moment of distraction and surged into action. His ribs screamed in protest and his breath gurgled in his throat but he ignored the agony and forced himself to move. He hurled himself at Wurd'eye, bringing up Venom to strike. The warboss spied his action and turned to meet him but it was too late. Coluber leapt high and swept Venom's edge for the neck as he cried, "Ave Imperator!"

The shining edge of the relic sword met the Ork's neck and sliced clean through, parting head from shoulders. One sweep of the blade and Wurd'eye was done for, the warboss' reign of terror cut short. The Ork's head crashed to the deck and a second later the body followed, toppling like a chopped tree. The eldritch light in his eyes flared one last time, as if seeking to cling to life, but then it guttered out and faded to nothing.

As it did so the whole war-stage shuddered, discharging energy in all directions as it's Master died. A thunderous clamour arose, then suddenly green power blasted outwards in all directions, knocking Orks from their feet and tossing trukks aside like leaves. Even Duke Vertus' Knight rocked on its feet as the heart of the horde was thrown to the ground, left stunned and bewildered by the unexpected blast.

Coluber spied opportunity unfold, the chance to end the threat once and for all and he opened his vox to proclaim, "Brothers the hour is at hand, the Xenos are broken and weak! Slay them all, leave none alive!" And with that the true culling of the Orks began.


	84. Chapter 84

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 84**

Coluber's ribs ached with the hot burn of his Transhuman body knitting itself back together. His head was throbbing and a bitter taste was in his mouth, the iron tang of blood lurking in his throat. His armour was hardly any better, the breastplate was cracked and the rad-counter was clicking steadily. Not lethal levels for a mortal but none too healthy either and they weren't even near the battlefield.

Leagues from the valley the Imperial forces regrouped, gathering together to count their losses and laurels. They had to meet here for the battlefield was a toxic wasteland, forever tainted by alchemic brews and radioactive fallout. On a patch of bare earth drop-ships were loading, filling with victorious Amber Vipers. Aquila landers and Arvus lighters collected infantry while a massive Agantyr drop-ship swallowed the tanks one by one. Secundus cohort was mostly absent, running down fleeing Orks. Tertius Cohort was with them, the Snakelet-scouts held in reserve to catch stragglers. The third generation of Amber Vipers was young but they'd survived their baptism of fire. Meanwhile the Knights were standing some way off, isolated from the Astartes, which was not a good sign.

Coluber turned slowly and asked of the three Astartes behind him, "How many did we lose?"

"Between Primus and Secundus, twenty-three Brothers," answered Shrios, a snide and callous Apothecary who played no small part in the creation of the various poisons the Chapter employed.

"A costly victory," Coluber lamented

"But a worthwhile one," Battle-Captain Ferrac rejoined.

Ferrac was a brutal warrior, scarred and battered by war. His brow and cheeks were covered by an iron mask, etched with snake motifs, making him appear a feral champion from some savage Deathworld. His axe-rake was missing many teeth and his sledgehammer gun rattled empty while his jump pack steamed from overuse. Ferrac was a harsh Master, exacting in expectation and profligate with the lives of his Marines but there was no soul fiercer or more loyal.

Shrios snorted, "Worthy? Tell that to the dead."

Ferrac however proclaimed, "We saved a Knight world, from an Orc Waaagh no less. This is the most significant victory the Amber Vipers have won since the Time of Exodus. Forget quashing rebellions, forget pirate suppressions, salvaging derelicts and petty deals with Planetary Governors. Every victory combined, does not equal the strategic significance of a Knight world. We are at long last fighting as an Astartes Chapter should."

"Not that they'll thank us, arrogant curs," Shrios scoffed.

"So long as they hold to our pact and send our promised resupply it does not matter," Coluber demurred, "Let us consider our gains. We have perfected our stratagems and tactics as a more aggressive force. Our third generation has been blooded and proven themselves worthy recruits, in time they shall join the ranks of Primus and Secundus. Our gene-seed stockpile is replenished and our mechanical might also grows, our war machines performed flawlessly. Truly they are remarkable in spirit and in form."

"Would that we had a few more tanks," Ferrac muttered, "I could have used them on the hilltops."

"Alas, our chattel-artisans struggle to awaken them," Coluber lamented, "Our logistics remain threadbare and our manufacturing capacity scant."

"We're already at our limit," Shrios interjected, "Three hundred Astartes are a hungry force to equip, soon petty deals and mercenary bargains won't sustain us. We're outgrowing our skins, soon we must shed our scales."

"A growing problem, yet a few more victories like this will aid our reputation greatly. Though I admit I was not expecting the Cerberii," Coluber confessed.

All eyes slid to the silent third member of their party. A black-clad Astartes with a bloody handprint over his helm. He was the only one still wearing his helmet and in his hands was a Fission-blaster and at his hip was a crystal knife, in place of the customary Fang. This was Kregulf, Claviger of the Cerberii, keeper of the Gate of Perdition and a condemned rebel.

Kregulf's voice was grim as he stated, "The situation warranted our intervention."

Coluber countered, "I'm not sure our allies would agree."

"That is not their decision to make," Kregulf affirmed, "I alone judge if a threat justifies opening our vaults and this was such a battle. Kimdaria could not be allowed to fall, lest the Imperium lose the whole sector."

"And Verdin Ridge wasn't?" Shrios muttered, citing a recent, bloody battle.

"No," Kregulf uttered, "Threats to the Chapter alone are not enough, the peril must endanger the wider Imperium. I would see you all die before risking my charges' taint escaping my stewardship."

"Nice to know," Ferrac snorted, "Yet I still wonder how you activated those Cadmus Robots."

It was a pressing question but Kregulf deflected, "I must return to my watch, I dislike leaving the Gates with only two guards. By your leave."

Kregulf turned and strode away as Shrios muttered, "I don't know what you were thinking, making those disgraced wretches into prison guards."

"They serve their purpose, as do the Brother-Exemplars," Coluber explained, "One order inspires, the other threatens. Discipline has improved and I have only had to add another three to the order since their inception."

Ferrac quipped, "I don't know what they do behind those doors but they've got the snakelets pissing themselves. The mewling babes foul their britches every time someone mentions them."

Coluber chuckled at the jest but Shrios did not. His face remained grim and Coluber asked, "What is wrong?"

Shrios sighed, "I didn't want to say this before Kregulf, but the casualties, one of them was Nuros."

"No," Coluber breathed in distress for he was one of the Old Seventeen. A survivor of the Time of Exodus and one of the founders of the Chapter.

Ferrac spat, "Fang-Rot, what do we call ourselves now: The Old Sixteen?"

"You'll note I'm not laughing," Coluber growled, "How did he die?"

"Defiantly," Shrios lamented, "Took three Orks down with him before the end."

"Come, we must perform the Rite of the Dead," Coluber declared.

The trio hastened away to where the honoured dead lay. Gaggles of squadmates and comrades were gathered around each body, taking items of personal value or practical worth. Some small, others significant, but everyone took something. Such rituals bound the Chapter in spirit, forging bonds that lasted lifetimes. Coluber could scarcely believe the time had come to perform the Rite for one of the Old Seventeen. Nuros had been there since the rebirth of the Amber Vipers, they all had, as recruits rose and fell. All Astartes were fated to die in battle but somehow that knowledge had become theoretical, to lose a comrade of so many years was a shock. It seemed bizarre, to have Nuros endure so much only to die so suddenly. Coluber was struck by the knowledge that the day would come when all the Old Seventeen were gone and the Amber Vipers would be without any living memory of the glory a Chapter should be. There would be no star to steer by and he could only trust the legacy he left would be a noble one.

On the cold ground Nuros lay, his body pierced by many blows. His squad stepped back in respect and Coluber looked upon his old comrade and felt woe in his hearts but his lips fell into the ritual words, "Nuros, you died as you lived: with a cold heart and a fast blade. You gave your life ensuring our flame endured, now your death too shall stoke the fire, one last time."

With that epithet Coluber knelt and took a small Carnodon tooth from Nuros' belt, a trophy hard-won in another life. Ferrac took a jewelled dagger and Shrios unclipped a gauntlet, holding it up to compare to his own worn plate. With the Rite complete they stood and Coluber felt the passing of an age begin, the inevitable turn of history bearing down on him.

"At least he lived to see the Chapter become stronger than we could ever have dreamed at the start," Ferrac sighed.

"Our age is passing," Coluber mourned, "But there is still much to do. We cannot linger, I must speak to the Duke."

With heavy hearts they left the bodies behind and walked away. Coluber felt the weight of his decisions weighing down upon him but he kept his head high and his brow steady. He could not look defeated in front of his Brothers, they needed to see him as the unbreakable Lord, confident of victory and clear of purpose. So he put the death behind him, marching with a firm step. Together the party departed from their ranks and moved towards the looming silhouette of the Knights, among them Duke Vertus.

Arrayed in a circle were two dozen Knight Engines, all that remained of House Mortan. It was distressing to see a noble Knight House diminished so badly and yet Coluber knew from this seed they could rebuild. New sons would be born, virgin steeds commissioned from nearby Forgeworlds and fresh laurels would be won. In time House Mortan would rise once more, charging to glory across the galaxy in the Emperor's name. It was only thanks to the Amber Vipers this was possible, a fine laurel for their records, yet it hadn't been entirely altruistic on Coluber's part.

Standing at the foot of a Knight Paladin was Duke Vertus, with a gaggle of Sacristans and lesser nobles. The Duke was a bald man, haggard and worn by strife and desperate battle. He shivered from withdrawal, his human flesh longing for blessed communion with his steed. Yet about him was an ineffable air of the Machine, the posture of his stance, the set of his jaw and the cast of his eye spoke of strength, fury and rigid honour. Truly the Throne Mechanicum has left its mark on this man.

Vertus saw them coming and muttered, "Oh, it's you."

Coluber's jaw tightened at the dismissive greeting but he forced himself to say, "Hail Duke Vertus, I offer salutations on this triumphant day."

Vertus sniffed, "I don't see what's so fine about it."

Shrios interrupted, "Watch your tone, you address a victorious Chapter Master."

Vertus grimaced as he hissed, "The Code Chivalric requires me to offer my thanks for killing Wurd'eye, so thanks. Now get off my planet."

"Somebody piss in your wattle bottle?" Ferrac growled.

"You dare insult a Duke on his own planet?!" Vertus snapped.

Sensing trouble Coluber lifted a brow to enquire, "You sent out the cry for reinforcements, did you not require our aid?"

Vertus growled, "If I'd known what filth you brought with you I'd have shot you out of orbit. The entire Delphanic valley is poisoned, we'll have to evacuate good lands for hundred leagues in all directions."

That pricked his hearts but Coluber kept his cool as he remarked, "Better that than to let the Orks claim everything. Better to lose a valley than a planet."

"Easy for you to say," Vertus growled, "You will return to the stars and not look back. I have lost the majority of my House. Many widows wail and sons mourn lost fathers. The peasant stock is depleted and my Knights reduced. The Orks left me with ruins and I don't even have a head to place over my fireplace."

"Oh, I see," Ferrac sneered, "You're hacked off because you didn't get to claim Wurd'eyes head."

"He was mine!" Vertus growled, "He invaded my world, ravaged my people! I swore sacred oaths to claim his worthless life and now I am left to round up his scraps. All because you swanned in and claimed the glory of the kill!"

Coluber knew the Duke had good reason to be angry, matters of glory and honour were most serious things to a Knight, to any warrior. Yet he would not make an enemy of a Knight House and demurred, "My friend I make no such claims. The Ork had me on the edge, until you intervened. It was only thanks to your heroic intervention that Wurd'eye turned his back. I would be honoured to share the glory of the kill."

It was a magnanimous gesture, but Vertus sneered, "Don't try to grease my palms, I'm not a man for turning by soft words. You cut the head off, the kill is yours. So take your glories and begone."

Coluber stiffened as he retorted, "What of our accord?"

"I gave my word and I keep it. Resupply shuttles are being lifted to your flotilla as we speak. Fuel, munitions, rations and press-ganged peasants will be delivered as we agreed. Strange though, I've never heard of any Astartes expecting recompense for their services before."

Coluber nodded in acceptance but then he queried, "And the other thing?"

Ferrac started, "What other things?!"

"Later," Coluber hushed him, "Vertus?"

The Duke rubbed his chin and sighed, "It is a strange boon you crave. You're sure about this, the Grim Pall nebula is perilous enough but what you seek is madness."

"Yet I seek it," Coluber declared boldly.

Vertus shook his head and cautioned, "I would not let any man pursue this course without fair warning. The nebula is dangerous, it favours only the brave and the bold but the Masio Silentium at its heart is something else. Nobody ventured there, not even the most reckless Freeblade. Too many colonies have gone missing, too many convoys disappear, whole crusades have simply vanished into those haunted depths. Even Xenos can not escape its eclipse, an entire Waaagh once disappeared into that sucking maw. My ancestors declared that region Perdita and commanded all to steer well clear, but every century the veil of silence advances a little further. The spread of empty colonies and missing ships grows a little larger. Do not do this."

"I must, I have no other choice," Coluber confessed.

"Well if you must chase ghosts then you will need a guide who knows those shadowed paths. The only one who can steer you a safe course, you will find him a prisoner in my Keep. I grant you permission to retrieve him, then depart as fast as you can and never darken Kimdaria's orbits again."

Coluber nodded to the Duke and said, "My thanks and eternal friendship."

They turned away and walked off but Coluber's sharp ears heard Vertus muttering, "Good riddance, miserable thieving bastards."

As they marched away Ferrac asked, "What is this matter?"

Shrios added, "Aye, what are you scheming?"

But Coluber kept walking as he assured them, "All in good time, I have a lead to explore first. But trust me when I say this will change everything."


	85. Chapter 85

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 85**

Kimdaria fell away as the Angantyr climbed into the sky, entering the stratosphere on blazing plasma wash. The drop-ship was a massive cylinder, which could easily fit a full company of troops in its cavernous launch bay. The largest orbital-interface transport the Amber Vipers boasted and the only one capable of lifting their mechanised formations into orbit in one transit.

Glord looked out of a porthole as the curvature of the planet became visible. It was a dark world, living in perpetual twilight, the envelope of its atmosphere a gossamer veil spread over forbidding forests and jagged mountain ranges. Kimdaria dwelt in the eternal gloom of the Grim Pall nebula, blocking much of the planet's natural sunlight and casting it into shadow and horror. Kimdaria was only on the edge of the nebula and in the last few millennia had enjoyed a lessening of its morbid gloom, but when it had first been discovered in the Great Crusade there had only been eternal night. It reminded Glord of a lurking arachnid, a waiting predator laying concealed until its prey stumbled into the trap and was consumed. Mankind had been such prey, lured to colonise the planet and by all rights should have been devoured, yet those ancient colonists had survived and thrived. It was a testament to House Mortan's stern fury, a proud zeal that had served them well in battles across the stars.

Glord was proud of his Chapter's involvement in saving the Knight World and his part in it, yet the time had come to put that behind him and consider the future. His eyes lifted from the world and looked out into the void. His eyes swept the orbits, looking for the Amber Viper's meagre fleet but he saw nothing. They were still many hours away from the Wyvern and her flotilla, the sheer distances involved in space travel making any effort to see ships with eyeballs farcical. Only on final approach would the ships become visible and even then they would be mere flecks of illumination. So Glord turned his eyes to the deep void.

The emptiness of space greeted him, absent of stars or moons. The Grim Pall nebula obscured all such natural beauty, its purple and jade smears painting the void a lurid sheen of colour. What little light was birthed in that nebula served only to make the colours more pronounced, swirling together like oils on a painter's palate. The Grim Pall nebula, the Shroud of Tempestus, the Hungering Void, the Black Veil, the Devourer. Yes, the nebula had many names on many worlds, but all who looked upon it knew it was inimical to all life. Only the outskirts of the nebula had ever been mapped and whatever lay in the deepest heart of that malignancy remained a mystery, an event horizon of ignorance men labelled the Masio Silentium. Terrible was its reputation and all God-Emperor fearing men avoided it as best they could. Too many colonies had vanished, too many convoys and ships had been swallowed by the nebula for Mankind to view it with anything but dread.

Glord sighed as he turned away, looking within the Drop-ship. Within the cavernous interior Astartes lounged with their squadmates, taking their ease now the battle was done. They laughed and joked, comparing scars and making overblown boasts of their prowess in battle. Kill tallies were compared and carefully added to squad totals, the measure of glory a fierce competition between units. The Amber Vipers encouraged such rivalries, to egg the Brothers on to greater feats of valour. However to avoid rancour glory was measured at the squad level, not the individual, lest it breed dissent and petty feuds.

The Astartes took up the upper deck of the drop-ship, all Primus and Secundus warriors. The lower deck was filled with bikes, Vulture gunships and tanks, the Angantyr able to fit all their vehicles with room to spare. Among those machines chattel-artisans moved, carefully tending to their charges, making field repairs and blessing the Machine Spirits with sprinkled holy oils. Glord knew he would have to tend to his bike later but for now he wanted to relax.

He mooched over to his squad and found them sitting in a circle, resting upon crates. They looked in good spirits, sharing stories and quips. Joffel and Kazao were playing some card game, gambling for spent bolt casings. By the looks of it Joffel was winning, probably because Kazao hadn't realised his cards were reflected in the dark visor of his stormtrooper helmet for all to see. Larus and Reddam were sharing a pallet of beers, supping heavily from the tins. Meanwhile Tebes, dour as ever, was reading a small book of dense text, studiously ignoring everybody.

Glord flopped down on a crate and picked up a beer, he cracked it open and drank filling his mouth with hoppy flavour until it was empty. He swallowed deeply, then pulled his chin in tight and held his breath, then opened his mouth and let out a loud belch that made other squads look up in surprise. Then he grinned broadly as Reddam's nose wrinkled and Larus waved a hand before his face.

"Emperor Wept," Reddam sighed, "So much for the dignity of the Adeptus Astartes. If the vaunted Ultramarines could see you scruffy vagrants their heads would explode."

Glord knew the Sergeant wasn't really offended, the squad had been through too much and saved each other's lives too many times for any of them to take umbrage. He picked up another beer and asked, "What are we drinking for?"

"Toasting Brother Nuros' death," Larus informed him.

Glord's face fell and he regretted his earlier boorishness as he gasped, "Nuros?! Of the Old Seventeen."

"Aye," Reddam sighed with a mournful face, "He died in battle, as we all should."

"Fang-rot," Glord muttered, "I can't believe it. I thought the Old Seventeen were immortal, that you lot would always be around to spoil our fun. Nuros was a good sort, he saved our lives on Athelling."

Reddam drew in a breath and uttered, "We marched through hell together, saw the rebirth of the Amber Vipers. I shall always remember him."

"To Nuros," Glord said as he raised his tin, "Glory shall ever echo to his name."

They drank deep and sat in silence. Glord knew they couldn't get drunk but the taste was pleasant and they enjoyed each other's company. Silence stretched out for long moments as Glord thought about what to say next, but nothing came. He rolled the tin in his hands, waiting for someone to speak. Then suddenly Kazao threw down his cards in disgust and cried, "Again?! How do you keeping winning?!"

Tebes turned a page in his book and remarked, "He can see the cards reflected in your visor."

"Why didn't you tell me?!" Kazao exclaimed in shock.

Joffel grinned ear to ear as a laugh escaped his lips, "Never interrupt your rival when he's making a mistake."

Glord chuckled loudly, "You have to admit, it was a good jest."

Kazao's mutated face was hidden behind his visor but his annoyance leaked out as he growled, "I'm never playing cards with any of you again."

Joffel smirked evilly as he turned to Tebes and asked, "You up for a hand?"

Tebes didn't look up as he replied, "No, I'm at a good page."

"What you reading?" Glord asked.

"A treatise on bolt-round velocities in differing atmospheric conditions," Tebes explained, "According to this scholar one can improve bolter accuracy by two percent with proper accounting for air density."

Glord shook his head as he scoffed, "That's what you do to relax?"

Tebes sternly replied, "I do not need to relax, we should all be striving to be the most perfect Astartes we can be."

"Phft!" Glord snorted in derision.

However Reddam countered, "Tebes is right. An Astartes should be foremost concerned with his battle craft, his devotion to duty and seeking only to serve the Emperor. We should be glad to exist with nothing save our bolters and the strength He has given unto us. We don't need fancy awards and gilt tokens to be the best of men."

Glord cocked his head and asked, "Does that mean you don't want another beer?"

Reddam grinned as he quipped, "I never said that. Pass one over, you scruffy vagabonds must be rubbing off on me."

Glord picked up another tin and chucked it over. Yet as he did so he sensed a stir moving through the various squads. His head turned and he beheld a marvel. The stern and proud forms of Brother-Exemplars Seyda and Vardat moving through the crowd. Amongst the mismatched armour marks of Primus and the scout-plate of Secundus their artificer armour shone like polished jewels. Every inch of their lauded Mark VIII armour gleaming, their helms held high and Burst-Lances braced in parade stance. They moved through the crowd without pause, knowing all held them in awe as they descended to the lower deck to inspect the chattel-artisan's placating Drakones' spirit.

"See," Tebes said, "Look at them, peerless examples of what we could become if we put our minds to it."

"Truly glorious," Joffel breathed.

Glord however sniffed, "They're not that great. They still bleed the same colour blood we do."

"You're just jealous," Joffel snapped, "But I shall not hold it against you when I join their ranks."

"You?!" Kazao snorted, "You think you have what it takes to be a Brother-Exemplar?"

Joffel lifted his head proudly and proclaimed, "I do. I shall rise to Primus Cohort, then a Sergeant's rank, then the Brother-Exemplars. You wait and see, I shall do it."

Tebes snorted, "Trouble with that dream is you'll never fit your big head into a helm."

Joffel scowled as everybody chuckled at the dig and he snapped, "What of you, what do you dream?"

In response Tebes merely stated, "I dream of being the best Astartes I can be, I wish only to serve to my full potential. What of you Reddam?"

The Sergeant sighed, "A full and glorious Chapter, without a dishevelled bunch of misfits back-talking me everyday. Larus?"

"Completing my collection," Larus said as he reached behind his crate and pulled out a string of Ork teeth.

Glord rolled his eyes for the Brother had a habit of acquiring trophies from the slain, body parts, tokens, discarded weapons. He was turning into a magpie, filling their barracks with odd bits of rubbish and alien skulls. Glord sighed, "What more could you possibly add?"

Larus mused upon it and then said, "I would like to encounter a Tyranid."

"No you wouldn't," Reddam growled, "Trust me on this."

Kazao broke in then to say, "Well, I am already living my dream. To fight alongside Brothers and share in the glory of battle. It is all an Aberrant like me can ask for. What of you Glord?"

Glord was put back by the macabre speech of their mutated Brother, his gene-seed defect meaning he could never hope for promotion or even a genic legacy. Yet the question set Glord back, what did he want, what could he possibly desire more than the company of his fellows? To fight and die as an Amber Viper was all he had ever desired and he honestly didn't know what else to say, so shrugged it off, "I desire another beer."

Reddam grinned as he reached into the crate between them and handed over the last tin saying, "Careful, if Ferrac saw you like this he'd have you sent to the Cerberii."

The jest fell flat as all shuddered and Glord muttered, "Urgh, don't say that out loud. Someone might hear you."

Joffel grimaced foully as he spat, "What were they doing, charging in like that? They should stay guarding their gate, not taint our glory."

Larus added, "They make me nauseous. Disgraced turncoats, failures and recidivists. Why Coluber let them live is a mystery."

Kazao added, "Better to die cleanly than suffer eternal dishonour."

Tebes added, "They are a blight on our Chapter and their weapons are unworthy of any Astartes."

"Enough, enough," Reddam barked, "It was a poor jest, you don't have to get worked up about it. The Cerberii serve an important function and you can't deny their threat has kept the new recruits in line. They're far more disciplined than you sorry lot ever were."

Glord pulled hard on his tin and swallowed a mouthful then said, "If I ever do anything bad enough to warrant being sent to the Cerberii, promise you'll kill me first."

"You have my word," Reddam replied with a smirk.

"Well this is morbid," Joffel quipped as he leaned back and stretched his arms over his head, "Let us change the subject. Anybody know where were heading next?"

Reddam sniffed, "Could be anywhere, we have the resources and weapons to make a real difference in the galaxy now. We can truly fight as the Emperor intended."

Kazao's helm leaned in as he revealed, "I heard Coluber has gone off on a secret envoy to the Duke's Keep. Really hush-hush stuff."

"Then how you'd hear about it?" Glord asked sceptically.

"I have my ways," Kazao replied cryptically.

Tebes however commented, "He heard it off two chattels fuelling the Thunderhawk Viper's Bite. They overheard the pilot's voxing their flight-plan to the flotilla in orbit."

Kazao threw up his hands and cried, "You spoiled my aura of mystery! I had a tale all worked up to dazzle you with my wit."

Tebes didn't seem abashed as he commented, "Self-aggrandisement and deception are beneath an Astartes."

Glord however chewed his lip and mused, "I wonder what Coluber is doing and what it means for us."

Reddam sighed, "No point speculating, we'll find out when we are told."

The others accepted this at face value but Glord was troubled. This was an unexpected complication and he didn't like the implications. The idea that there were things he didn't know irked him and he had the sneaking suspicion that this news heralded trouble.


	86. Chapter 86

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 86**

A Knightly Keep was in many ways the equal to Astartes' Fortress-Monasteries. Each a bastion of Imperial might, ringed by high walls and boasting Macroweaponry, void shields and thousands of defenders. From such castles did the armies of man sally forth, driving back the darkness besieging the Imperium. They were beacons of hope in an age of despair, eternal guardians standing against the coming of night and the last line of defence against extinction.

Mortan Keep was no different, a collection of soaring towers and mighty walls built into the mountainsides. From those towers flew proud banners and shimmering void-shield vanes, signs that the defenders yet stood. It was ideally positioned in the nape of a sharp valley, making any attacker slog up an exposed approach where they would be easy pickings. The sharp peaks nearby hid Macroweapon emplacements and only a fool would dare face their wrath. That hadn't stopped the Orks trying though and the valley below was littered with Greenskin dead. Many times had Mortan Keep been attacked throughout the Waaagh and each had ended with the Ork's slaughter. Mortan Keep stood proud and defiant, a jewel in the Imperial crown, though the dungeons were less impressive.

Deep under the mountains Coluber strode through a rough-hewn tunnel. It was dank and cold, the bare stone sucking warmth from the air and leaving a shivering chill that cut to the bone. The light was dim, provided only by flickering electro-candles at infrequent intervals. Black iron doors lined the route, each grim and foreboding and all sealed tight against escape. There was also a smell of decay, like a busy morgue and Coluber knew the prisoners in many cells had died in confinement and been left to rot, the guards unconcerned with dragging out cold bodies. The whole cell-block was a pit of wallowing despair, a place where hope went to die and dreams of escape withered before ever being uttered. Coluber approved of its character, whoever built this place understood what prison was supposed to be.

The Chapter Master strode boldly down the tunnel, counting doors all the while. He had left Viper's Bite on a landing pad high above and taken a grav-lift to the gaol. With him were Shrios and Ferrac, both stumped as to why they were here. One other thing was different, a wooden box Coluber held under one arm, the contents his alone to know.

As they stomped along Shrios muttered, "So, are you going to tell is what this is about?"

Evasively Coluber demurred, "I seek a guide."

"To the Masio Silentium?" Shrios queried, "I thought no one ever came back from that abyss."

Coluber explained, "Word has reached my ear that someone has. Our Navigator allies tell me a smuggler found a secret path into the heart of the nebula and returned alive. It has taken me three years to track him down."

Ferrac head shook as he said, "You intend to cross that accursed event horizon?"

"I do," Coluber declared, "I intend to take the whole Chapter into that maze and prize open its secrets."

Shrios paused in his steps and exclaimed, "That's very… bold."

"Reckless is what I'd call it," Ferrac added, "You'd risk the whole Chapter on a rumour?"

Coluber stopped walking and turned about saying, "Talk of caution from you Ferrac? My ears still ache from all your calls for blood-soaked charges and defiant stands."

Ferrac cocked his head and remarked, "Usually I'm the one calling for stupid actions and you're the one urging prudence. What's got you all fired up?"

Shrios added, "Aye, what could possibly justify risking everything we have built on a rumour?"

Coluber sighed, "I suppose you'd find out eventually, but this must remain strictly between us. For many years I have been pursuing a lead on something truly worthwhile. It's all tied up with the history of the Masio Silentium. Tell me, what do you know of the Ghost Crusade?"

Ferrac looked stumped as he replied, "Nothing."

"Never heard of it," Shrios admitted.

Coluber rolled his eyes and said, "The Age of Redemption then, you've heard of that."

Shrios frowned as he stated, "It was the epoch following the Age of Apostacy. With Vandire's death the Imperium stood united and the people were filled with faith as never before. They set out to reconquer all that had been lost since the Emperor walked as a man. Crusade after Crusade was launched, to seize back everything and claim more besides. Billions of souls were sacrificed on the altar of expansion, they spilled blood like it was water. There was no time for consolidation or defending what they took, all they thought of was the next conquest."

"Damned near drained the Imperium dry," Ferrac muttered, "For a millennium they stripped every defence to the bone, striped every garrison bare and when an onslaught of Xenos invasions and a Black Crusade arose there was nothing left to hold them at bay. A thousand years of Imperial conquest came crashing down, losing almost everything they'd taken back."

Coluber nodded in agreement and elaborated, "At the height, 903.M37, Terra declared a Crusade to cleanse the Grim Pall nebula. To penetrate its depths and end whatever threat it presented to Imperial expansion. They wanted to colonise the nebula and lay claim to its resources. A Warmaster was selected, Bertram Drake, conquerer of the Killarnock Gulf and High Lord Tempestus. He led a million men, hundreds of tank regiments, Knights and a fleet of starships into the Masio Silentium and then promptly vanished. A whole Crusade jumped into the nebula and was never heard from again."

Ferrac didn't sound impressed as he scoffed, "So a lot of Guardsmen got killed, why does that concern us?"

Shrios sniffed, "If you're looking to loot graves and salvage ship-parts there are easier ways to do it. I don't see why we need risk the whole Chapter over this."

Coluber however dropped his bombshell, "Because, in addition to the mortal assets, the Ghost Crusade had the support of an Astartes Chapter. One thousand Space Marines, pledged to the cause, along with their entire fleet and Starfaring Fortress-Monastery. They were the Amber Vipers."

Coluber enjoyed the look of shock that spread over his Brother's faces as Shrios spluttered, "The… Amber Vipers? The real Amber Vipers?!"

"Not so loud," Ferrac snapped, "But still… To find the arsenal of the original Chapter, the ones we stole our name from… It's an incredible thought, no wonder you seek this prize."

Coluber eagerly affirmed, "Yes, this will change everything. But it is only a fantasy unless we acquire a guide, now follow me and look intimidating."

With that Coluber resumed his walk, heading deeper into the gaol. They passed many doors, counting down the time to their destination. Coluber was silent throughout but in his hearts excitement built. This lead had been so vague, the chance so small, that he had doubted it would ever come to pass. Yet here he was, finally closing on his most secret ambition. If his suspicions were true his Chapter was about to be elevated to glory, if not then they would fall into the abyss. It had to be chanced, the Old Seventeen were passing and with them any memory of what a Chapter should be, this was his only opportunity to build a worthy legacy. He was no stranger to risk in battle and he knew sometimes one much gamble everything, else forfeit all, there was no more time for playing it safe.

Finally they reached the right door and Coluber slammed it open, breaking the lock in the process. The cell was grim and foreboding, with bare stone walls and a single lumen orb. There were no furnishings and no bed, the only feature a drain in the floor for bodily wastes. The stark walls were covered in scratches, some form of deranged etchings, the signs of an unravelling mind needing to make a mark. Huddled in a corner was the author of those marks. He was a bedraggled soul, malnourished and gaunt, dressed only in rags. He had a wiry beard but his scalp was bald and patterned with liver spots. His arms and legs were stick-thin and age hung upon him like an old coat, taking his body into decrepitude. This was Coluber's guide, Yohan Schwift, the only shipmaster to ever dare the Masio Silentium and return alive.

Schwift's skeletal hands flew up before his eyes at the glare and he cried, "Who's there?!"

Coluber led his Brothers within, their girth barely fitting through the door as he growled, "Yohan Schwift."

"Astartes!" the pathetic wretch wailed, "Ain't me, ain't me!"

"Save me the protestations," Coluber sneered, "House Mortan caught you smuggling goods through their orbitals. They impounded your ship and threw you in here. You are the one I seek."

"He's dead," Schwift pleaded, "He's dead!"

"Then I was mistaken, shame, I was going to take him out of this cell. Come Brothers, leave this one to rot."

Before he could take a step the man stiffened and cried, "Wait! Don't leave me here. I'm him, I'm Schwift."

Ferrac snorted, "Pathetic worm, he's not worth our time."

Yet Coluber countered, "All I need is his knowledge. Speak to me Schwift, tell me of your sojourn in the nebula."

Schwift assumed a cunning glint in his eye as he said, "I wandered a great many places, you'll have to be a bit more specific like."

Coluber took out the box and opened it, revealing the contents. Within was a single helm, Mark IV, a pattern the Chapter had no access to. The eye lenses were smashed and the systems wrecked but it was undeniably an Astartes' helm. Yet the colours were different from the burnished umber of Coluber's plate, a deeper vein of red, threaded with black speckles. Coluber lifted it out and said, "You sold this and other items in orbital black-markets across three Sub-Sectors. My Navigator allies got wind of it and passed your name to me. These items are of worth to me, but I seek the source. Tell me where you found them."

Schwift grinned toothlessly and quipped, "That's expensive talk, what you offerin?"

"You dare!" Shrios snarled.

But Coluber lifted a hand and said, "Freedom. I offer release from this cell and the right to depart alive, if you steer us true."

Schwift eyed them greedily and asked, "Your ship's got showers, hot food?"

"Yes," Coluber said, "Now tell us how you succeeded where no others have. How you penetrated the Masio Silentium and what you found there."

Schwift scratched behind his ear as he explained, "Heard the legends, heard the bar talk of the nebula and the treasures it conceals. Knew there had to be somethin' good inside, else why hide it. But how to get in, there's the rub. Looked for years and years, almost gave it up as a bad idea, 'till I saw a way. A Hrud Migration, heading right into the heart of it. They're a tricky bunch, twisting space and time in freaky ways, but that lets 'em get in where no others can."

"You followed in the Hrud's wake," Coluber pressed, "They blazed a path you could follow."

"Damned rough it was too. Gravitic squalls, supernovas, Ion storms, warp rifts and rogue asteroids everywhere. Couldn't risk jumping more than a few light-years at a time. But I pressed on, drawn by the smell of loot. My poor ship, the Lusty Liz, nearly broke her doing it but then we found what we were looking for. In orbit around a class-A blue star was a doorway to somewhere else. Looked carved from stone it did, ancient and evil. The Hrud ignored it, didn't interest 'em, but we got in close. Crew were pissing themselves, damn near had a mutiny on me hands and that's when it gobbled us up and spat us out somewhere else."

"A warp-gate," Shrios speculated, "A tunnel through the Immaterium, linking two locations in realspace. I've heard of such things in the Jericho Reach. No one knows who made them, but they are powerful and unpredictable."

Coluber nodded as he asked, "Where did it take you and what did you find there?"

Schwift shrugged, "Nowhere in Imperial space, that's for sure. As to what I found: a graveyard. Void hulks as far as the surveyors could scan. Human, Xenos, others… all dead. It was downright creepy, put the fear in me bones. Something was wrong about that place, something evil. Still, I hadn't come all that way for nothin' so I looted the first ship I found and got the Lusty Liz out of there and never looked back. To this day I'm convinced something was watching me, something that thought I wasn't even worth squashing. Never dared go back."

"Didn't stop you boasting about your exploits," Coluber hissed, "Now you will show me the way."

"Can draw you a map," Schwift replied.

"No, you're coming with us."

"With you?! No way, I ain't going' back there!" Schwift protested.

"You can and you will," Coluber hissed, "Else be left here to rot."

"You promised me freedom!" Schwift hollered.

"After we return alive. I am not fool enough to sail into the Masio Silentium with nothing but a map drawn by a madman. You will steer us true yourself, or be the first to die."

"I won't do it," Schwift spat, "You can't make me."

Grimly Coluber ordered, "Ferrac... convince him."

The Battle-Captain stepped forward and hefted his axe-rake, causing Schwift to cry, "You can't kill me, you need me!"

Ferrac gunned the motor as he whispered, "We require your tongue, not your limbs. Which shall be first, hands or feet?"

"Stop!" Schwift yelled, "You win, I'll do it."

"I am pleased we could forge an accord," Coluber stated, "Shrios, give him some booster-stimms and carry him out of here, I don't want him to die before we get to orbit."

Coluber stepped back as Shrios knelt to examine the wretch and whispered, "You understand what this means."

Ferrac nodded, "If that's where he got the helm then he must have found the Ghost Crusade. Strike cruisers, Battlebarges, war machines, companies worth of power armour."

Coluber concurred, "Think what a few tanks and thirty suits did for us. This will catapult us to greatness. With such might our new Amber Vipers shall ascend to heights undreamt. A worthy legacy indeed."

Yet Ferrac muttered, "Just the little matter of whatever could kill an entire Chapter of Space Marines to deal with."

Coluber agreed, "We must go in with our eyes alert and gunports open. This will be risky but it must be chanced. But rest assured, whatever greets us in there I intend to shoot first and ask questions later."

So they left the gaol, heading into the unknown. Coluber's mind was awash with dreams of what he could achieve with the power that awaited him but little did he know his dreams were about to become nightmares. The Masio Silentium was far more than he knew and he had no idea how perilous the danger truly was.


	87. Chapter 87

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 87**

The birth of a star was a wondrous thing to behold. In the eternal gloom of the Grim Pall nebula it blazed like a lighthouse, all scorching white light and fiery defiance against the stormy night. The young protostar was a brilliant white dot off the port bow, barely bigger than a thumb at this distance, but its dazzling light still cut through the darkness. Around the star an accretion disc was forming, clouds of gas spiralling into the newborn to add to its mass. Meanwhile a million asteroids clashed together and broke up, the first dance steps in a performance that would lead to planets forming.

Coluber considered the protostar through the hazed armourglass window of his personal quarters. Like his Chapter it was unformed and screaming with birth pains. Though the star had been ignited before Mankind even left its homeworld it was, by the scales of deep time, still a newborn and the metaphor was apt. Its final form had yet to be established and it could be anything, proud and brilliant, dark and forbidding, fiery and intemperate. All were possible and the future was an unwritten page.

Coluber stood for some time, looking at the star and the forbidding nebula that was its womb. The Masio Silentium seemed an odd place to find a protostellar nursery, but then they had seen many bizarre things over the last few weeks. Long before the first crude torch-ships had left the Sol system humanity had studied nebula from afar and wondered what beauty they hid, what wonders dwelled within those gossamer veils. Scholar-savants, lyricists and Astro-theologians had looked into the heavens and dreamt of the birth of worlds and fonts of life itself. The reality was about as far from those childish dreams as it was possible to get.

The Masio Silentium was an ugly place, as lovely as being at the bottom of a bucket of tar. The wider galaxy was obscured, leaving only shades of purple and green in all vectors. Gravitic anomalies shook the Amber Viper's ships at random, radiation surges lashed over scorched hulls, rogue asteroids veered into their path and lone atoms smashed into their shields ceaselessly. Progress had been slow, the flotilla unable to make jumps of more than a few light-years at a time, each translation a turbulent nightmare of crashing tides followed by laborious recalculations. Yes, the nebula was not a welcoming place, it was hostile to all life and that was only accounting for natural phenomena.

Over the last few weeks Coluber had seen increasing signs of some active malevolence in the nebula. Broken remnants of unidentifiable ships, cleaved in two like a surgeon's knife had vivisected them or dismantled and laid out piece by piece like some Chronometrist's timepiece. Hard-scrabble colonies and asteroid settlements, signs of some forlorn attempt to mine the region, had been scoured of life. The dig-sites left perfectly preserved, tools and all, but missing every single inhabitant. There had been strange Xenos monoliths left hanging in space, their makers completely unknown to Imperial lore and their purpose unclear. They didn't appear to be any form of space station or vessel, at least none Coluber understood, so perhaps they had been warning buoys or territorial markers or even installation art. There was no way to tell.

Coluber turned his eyes to examine his meagre flotilla. There wasn't much to it, a trio of mass-haulers fitted out as manufactorums, five frigates of unimpressive calibre, a blockade runner and the Wyvern. She was a light cruiser, a retrofitted Trade-Carrack repurposed to serve as the Chapter's home. Some three hundred Amber Vipers lived on board, more than Coluber had dreamed of at the start of his quest but less than he had hoped. Time was a fluid thing since the opening of the Cicatrix Maledictum but he reckoned they were about a third of the way into the first century of the Forty-Second millennium, maybe 030.M42 or 040.M42, either way time was running out. Coluber could feel it, the days were drawing in and he had to move faster or all would be lost.

His thoughts were interrupted by a chime at his door. He turned from his window and took in his quarters, roomy but surprisingly bare for a Chapter Master. There were the customary desk and workbench, his repaired armour hanging on a stand, Venom in a gilt-edged reliquary, a few cabinets laden with tomes and scrolls and a whirring cogitator in the corner. There was little in the way of personal accruements or possessions. Coluber had been trained in a far more austere environment than the younger Amber Vipers and had never acquired the taste for amenities they harboured, he didn't even like the taste of beer.

"Come!" Coluber declared and the door slid back to reveal a party of Astartes. They were clad in full-plate, those of Primus at least, but their faces were bare. Faces Coluber knew all too well. These souls had followed him into the unknown, faced terrible dangers and lost good friends together. They had been comrades in arms before the Amber Vipers existed, when they had marched in different colours. They were what remained of the Old Seventeen and they trooped in eagerly. There was one more soul, a mortal named Nathanal. He wasn't one of them but he knew what they knew, what the younger Amber Vipers could never know, so was included.

Coluber waited for the doors to close then stated, "My Brothers, it has been too long since we last spoke in private. It shames me that we have not gathered in many years but our duties are many. Still I must say…"

"Cut the fancy speech," a Sergeant called Infara snapped, "Let's get on with it."

Sergeant Reddam concurred, "I wouldn't put it so bluntly, but yes, let's cut to the quick."

Coluber didn't take umbrage, these souls had earned the right to speak freely. He said, "Ferrac's briefed you? Good. Then you know where we are going and why. I seek the graves of the Amber Vipers, the original Amber Vipers."

Reddam asked, "You're sure their bones lie ahead?"

Coluber replied, "As sure as can be, I have spent many years looking for any trace of them. Since the day we took up a dead man's name and cast off our old one. I have searched for their remains, trying to discover what happened to them and what was their character."

"What did you discover?" Ferrac asked from the back of the packed room.

Coluber sighed, "I could hardly march into the vaults of the Imperial Palace and demand the records. So I scoured Governor's libraries, had chattels sift through old mausoleums and chapels. Unfortunately most planets aren't concerned with anything other than their own affairs and references to the Amber Vipers were few and mostly crumbling. I found a list of battle honours, a commendation for valour in the Occlusiad war and a record of a recruitment world, now devoured by the Tyranid menace."

"You seem to have something more concrete than that now, so what changed?" Shrios enquired.

Coluber drew in a breath and said, "Our alliance with the Navigators of Chamandley gave me the resources I required to make a thorough search. I had to be circumspect, I could hardly tell them why I wanted it, but I finally found some hard information. A record of their participation in the Ghost Crusade."

He pulled three tomes out of a cabinet and laid them on his desk. He placed one hand on a book and said, "The Administraum's attention to trivial detail is astounding. This is a record of their resupply over Forgeworld Gryphonne IV. I can tell you exactly how many ration bars and self-sealing stem bolts they inloaded, but on the last page was a hand-written note that they stood at eight hundred and fifty-seven Marines strong."

"An impressive force," Ferrac commented, "Any mention of their Founding date or Primarch lineage?"

"None, I guess they predate the Age of Apostasy but that's only a gut feeling," Coluber admitted as he continued to the next book, "This is a record of their fleet disposition, one Battlebarge, displacing more than our entire flotilla combined. Seven Strike Cruisers of standard pattern, forty-three frigates and one mobile Fortress-Monastery."

Coluber saw the look in their eyes, the awe-inspiring potential such might represented. Reddam mused, "With such a fleet in our hands we would be a force to equal any other Chapter in the galaxy."

"Good luck reactivating them," Nathanal muttered, "I can tell you right now, we don't have the fuel or the crews to work all those vessels."

"Sadly I concluded the same, and I doubt we will get two shots at this," Coluber stated, "So my primary objective is this."

He opened the book and showed them a page. Etched on it was a detailed schematic of a Ramilies-class star fort, one of those great starfaring bastions of Imperial might. Reddam breathed, "Look at the size of that thing, one pier alone could dock our entire flotilla with room to spare."

"Imagine the arsenals inside," Nathanal gasped, "The vaults of power armour and fleets of tanks."

"Gene-seed repositories," Shrios pondered, "Laboritorums equipped to birth a thousand Space Marines."

"The Serpens Rex," Coluber declared, "The original Amber Viper's home and greatest asset. This is our primary objective, if we can retrieve this and nothing else it will be our most significant advance since Athelling. If we can't find it, or it's beyond salvaging, I'll settle for a Battlebarge or Strike Cruiser but I truly want the Serpens Rex."

Heads nodded but Reddam asked, "What's the third book?"

Coluber brushed the cover gently and intoned, "This was the greatest find. A volume of war philosophy and tactical doctrine they left on Gryphonne IV. It was penned by their Chief Librarian Maru Kysoto as a record of their beliefs and dogmas, a self-portrait if you will."

"What were they like?" Reddam pressed.

"Elegiac," Coluber said, "They loved rites and ceremonies, everything was very formal, every aspect of their lives was ritualised. They honed their craft to perfection, demanding absolute dedication to one aspect of war from birth to death. It's not like the Codex Astartes at all, they specialised each Marine to his role, rather than accepting generalisation. They had schools for bladework, shooting, command, piloting, you name it. They studied the martial traditions of every world they visited and adopted the best features into their doctrines, they thought there was always room for improvement. Above all they stressed courtesy and decorum in all things."

"Can't see them kicking back after a fight with a beer," Ferrac snorted producing a laugh from the room.

Coluber however continued, "Maru Kysoto waxed on about his Chapter Master, Tsumetai of the Hollow Fist. If this is to be believed, he was famous for fighting bare-handed, eschewing any weapons save his gauntlets. He defeated Chaos Champions and Eldar warlocks unarmed, using a fighting style they called 'The Way of the Lightning Fist'."

"Bare-fist fighting?" Shrios sniffed, "Pure Hyperbole. I'll believe that when I see it."

Yet Nathanal commented, "You sound like you admire them."

Coluber sighed, "There is much to admire in such a mind-set, a dedication to martial perfection and eschewing of material comfort that we have singularly failed to impose on our recruits. Maru Kysoto wrote: It is written that the Astartes know no fear but this is a half-truth. Passing in battle holds no fear for life and death are but binary states of being, neither one to be valued above the other. The Astartes greets his ending or survival with equal honour, accepting either outcome with unshakable dignity. Yet there are many types of death and some are lauded above others. The warrior's fear is a death with no meaning, one that serves no purpose and thus has no honour. Only in service to the Emperor can death be greeted without fear, for such an ending is the culmination of honour and grants meaning unto one's life. Seek thee a death in service to the Emperor and your life will have been lived with purpose."

"Well they sound like a fun bunch," Reddam snorted, "I think we can leave that book behind."

"We don't need long-winded philosophy to fight a war," Ferrac concurred, "Give me an axe-rake and a full magazine and I'll win the day for you."

Shrios concurred, "I agree, let's keep mission this simple. Get in, get the loot, get out."

Heads nodded in agreement but Coluber was vexed, "This is exactly what I want to put a stop to, this slovenly attitude! The younger Brothers don't know any better but we do, we remember what it was to be a real Chapter. Have we forgotten the pride and dignity of the Adeptus Astartes, the codes of honour? What are we teaching our recruits save lax and mercenary behaviour? When we die we leave behind a bunch of scruffy ruffians, who don't even know what they should be aspiring to! No, we must have the Serpens Rex not only for its material worth but for what it represents: pride, dignity, loyalty. It will be a beacon to guide the Chapter after we are gone, a legacy worthy of the Astartes."

Heads bowed in contrition and Reddam intoned, "We offer humble apologies Chapter Master. You are right; standards have slipped too far, even with the Cerberii to keep them in line we are still falling short of the goal."

Shrios admitted, "We've done the best we can, but we're at our limit. Materially and spiritually we can't grow any further plodding along as we have been. We need a better base of operations, a worthy one."

Silence reigned for a moment then Coluber declared, "Then we are of one mind. The Chapter will penetrate the Masio Silentium and find the Serpens Rex."

Yet Ferrac commented, "We're still a long way away and I don't trust Schwift one jot. He's too slick and cunning, plus no matter how much he showers he still stinks of imprisonment."

Nathanal added, "These jumps are taking a toll on our ships, one bad translation and we lose everything."

Coluber permitted, "Perhaps a scouting party is justified. I will send a single squad ahead in our blockade runner to reconnoitre the route."

Suddenly Reddam barked, "My squad volunteers!"

Coluber solemnly ordered, "So shall it be. Take our fastest ship and see what's ahead Reddam. Light our path and we will follow, but keep a sharp eye out. We still don't know what lies at the heart of the Masio Silentium and I judge the nebula will not let us snatch its prize so easily."

With that the meeting broke up and the crowd departed. Coluber waited for them to depart then turned back to the window and gazed at the protostar, musing upon life and death and which one awaited them in the days to come.


	88. Chapter 88

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 88**

Into the searing light of a Class-A blue star slipped a tiny vessel, sliding down the gravity well like a thief in the night. She was tiny by void standards, barely two kilometres long and sleek around the gunwales. Her mass was not encumbered by stacked ranks of weapon batteries nor laden with heavy armour. Yet her rear half was entirely taken up by bulbous drive units and plasma-injection boosters, lending her an acceleration curve a torpedo destroyer would be hard-pressed to match. By human standards she was almost graceful; a lithe dancer of the void, intended to avoid trouble via staggering speed. She was a ghost on the Auspex, a blur on a surveyor, a ghost glimpsed only fleetingly as she sped away from her hunters. She was a blockade runner and the Amber Vipers called her Peregrine.

Glord looked about the cramped bridge of the Peregrine, taking in the close confines. A ship like this did not boast the vast cathedral-spaces of a line cruiser nor the ostentatious décor and ancient murals of the Imperial Navy. The walls were bare and unlovely with a hundred or so crew jammed together in sweating rows before their consoles and the roof low enough for him to bounce a ball off, should he so desire. There were no chanting tech-priests circling the room or clerics reading aloud soothing binaric psalms, only random Engineseers applying sparking tools to fritzing mechanisms and loudly cursing Servitors as they drooled inanely in their sockets. The entire space was hot and loud and noisy and the air recyclers were doing a spectacularly bad job of clearing the smell of body odour and fused wiring from the environment.

Standing at the back Glord leaned on a wall and waited. Along with him was the bulk of the squad, minus Sergeant Reddam and their guide Yohan Schwift. For weeks they had steered the Peregrine into the heart of the Masio Silentium, running ahead of the Amber Viper's flotilla following the smuggler's recollections. The journey had been rough but no unexpected threats had arisen, save for the choppy warp-jumps and random gravitational surges. Glord was glad of it, the Peregrine was basically unarmed, if they ran into something they couldn't outrun it was certain they wouldn't have the firepower to survive for long.

Glord tapped the back of his skull on the metal wall and then blew out a breath and asked, "Are we there yet?"

Tebes rolled his eyes at that and retorted, "Patience is a virtue Brother."

"Patience can kiss my behind!" Glord snorted, "I didn't come all this way to wade through this soup."

Kazao interjected, "I can't believe I'm agreeing with Glord but he's right, we should have seen something by now."

Larus added, "That star is putting out an awful lot of radiation, it's cutting surveyor range to nothing."

It was true, the Peregrine's readouts were hashed with static, the consoles constantly resetting as cursing chattels struck them in the liturgically-approved fashion. The Hololith looked like a snowglobe, its edges touching both roof and floor in the cramped bridge. The shipmaster kept calling for it to be cleared but the mortal's cries were having no effect. As far as Glord could see they were almost flying blind. They may as well have opened the Oculus, would it not have permanently blinded every mortal present.

As the crew struggled to make headway Joffel leaned in and asked, "Do you really think there's a Warp-gate out there?"

Tebes sniffed, "If the smuggler is to be believed, it should be somewhere nearby."

"And the other thing?" Joffel mused, "Do the Old Seventeen really think we'll buy this bunk about looking for the lost Monastery of our forefathers?"

"Sounds silly you calling them that," Kazao deflected, "There's not seventeen of them anymore."

"Name's stuck," Glord sighed, "But he's right, they have no idea we know the truth."

The squad lapsed into silence as they dwelt on that. Little did the founders of the Chapter realise but the younger Amber Vipers were well aware that they were fighting under a dead man's banner. The Old Seventeen hadn't been as careful as they supposed, a slipped word here, a careless conversation there and a few relics that had no business existing had been enough for the younger generations to figure out their origin story was pure fabrication. Many details were still a mystery but Glord had once dragged a delirious Sergeant Reddam through a forest and in his fever-dreams he had let slip far more than he realised.

Glord still didn't know how the band of renegades had gone from a few battered survivors to leading a resurgent Chapter but he did know three things. Firstly the oldest members of their Chapter would not react well if they uncovered that their younger brethren had deduced their secret. Secondly none of his generation cared about the past; it was the future they looked to, not bleak and morbid history. Thirdly the Old Seventeen were passing and when they fell any past misdeeds would be expunged, the Amber Vipers could do whatever they wanted after that.

It was Kazao who said, "Best not complain, Reddam will only get all worked up."

Joffel agreed, "Let's focus on finding this Warp-gate. If what Reddam told us about what's on the other side is true we are about to grasp the greatest glory our Chapter has ever known. Think of what we can do with a base like the one he showed us, think of the power it will bring."

Larus ventured, "We could go anywhere, do anything we wanted."

The words sounded good but Tebes snapped, "In service the Emperor and His Imperium you mean!"

There was an awkward pause as everybody reassessed their words and Glord abashedly said, "Yes, obviously."

"That's what we all meant," Kazao deflected.

"Goes without saying," Joffel shamefully demurred.

"For His glory, naturally," Larus added.

Suddenly the shipmaster began shouting something at the crew and Glord opened his vox to send an alert to Sergeant Reddam. They watched on as the crew fought to clear the surveyors and slowly something odd began to emerge in the Hololith, very odd indeed. In the hazy swamp of the star's radiation hung a mottled shell, bathing in the solar winds. It totally out-massed the Peregrine, some four thousand kilometres long and a thousand across. It was roughly cylindrical in shape, though its surface was pitted and scarred by void impacts. The nearest end was covered in overlapping plates like a Carnodon's crest and a mouth big enough to swallow a Battlebarge whole was hanging limply open. The other end was sleek and finned, forming a sinuous tail. One flank was lined with hundred kilometre long tentacles, that glimmered with solar-collector fronds. The other was gnarled and whorled, like a crustacean's shell, but it was spilt in many places by vicious wounds that exposed fleshy entrails below. It was unlike any lifeform Glord had ever seen but it was certainly dead, the terrible rents down its spine attested to that.

Glord gasped in amazement, "What is that?!"

"A Tyranid!" Larus exclaimed.

"No," Tebes countered, "It's too big, even Hive Ships don't grow that massive."

"Then what is it?" Kazao breathed, "Where did it come from?"

Suddenly a thin voice cried, "That there's a Void Whale!"

Glord glanced over and saw Schwift entering the bridge, followed closely by Sergeant Reddam. Their guide had washed and shaved and was wearing fresh overalls but he still looked burdened by age and starvation. He had been helpful enough charting a course through the Masio Silentium but Glord found his manner off-putting. He was too covetous and sly, always looking out for himself first and last. Every time Schwift strolled by Glord found himself wanting to count his bolt shells, to make sure he hadn't been pickpocketed, he certainly wouldn't buy a second-hand ground cab off the man.

Reddam strode up to the projection and commanded, "Report!"

Joffel answered, "We're scouring the coordinates we were given, when we found this… thing."

Reddam turned to Schwift and hissed, "You didn't warn us about this."

Schwift scratched his ear as he replied, "Weren't here the last time I came by, must have swum into the system, recent like."

Glord was still staring at the image as he inquired, "What manner of beast is this?"

Schwift grinned toothlessly as he explained, "Void whale, as in a whale of the void. It's all in the name see. They swim through space sucking up gas clouds and nebulas, sometimes sailing the Immaterium itself, though none can say how. Voidfarers have hunted them since the earliest days, mining their nerves for superconductive fibres, bones for Adamantium-hard ivory and fat for chemicals richer than you can believe. Even the stomach acid is worth a fortune, to the right buyer."

"You've seen them in the nebula?" Joffel asked.

"Didn't know any were in here," Schwift commented, "Saw the tapped out remains of Void Whale over in the Xinara sub-sector. Mining its bones supported three planet's economies, till they exhausted it. Mind you, that were a full-grown one, not a little spat like this."

"That's a baby?!" Glord exclaimed.

"Mother's likely three times as big," Schwift chortled, "Probably got lost from its pod."

"I have a better question: what killed it?" Kazao interjected.

Schwift sniffed, "Nothin' good. Say, I don't suppose there's time to stop and do some prospecting?"

"No," Reddam growled, "This isn't what we came for, we press on."

The Peregrine edged around the dead Void Whale, diving into the soup of the star's radiation. Glord watched as the corpse slid out of the projection and eyed its wounds. It was a distressing sight and the implications worried him. Whatever had killed it had inflicted wounds more terrible than his Chapter's flotilla combined could achieve. Even firing together they couldn't produce a single gash like that, and the Void Whale had been pierced many times. He spent a second calculating the forces required and concluded that the Peregrine couldn't survive a single hit from whatever had done that. If they ran into the killer they best pray they could outrun it, or they were dead.

Slowly the Peregrine moved on and all eyes scoured the surveyors. Minutes crawled by and then there was a cry from the crewmen. Glord glanced at the Hololith and saw two planets emerging from the haze. Locked together by mutual gravitational forces they eternally spiralled around each other as they orbited the star, a dance as old as time itself.

Yet the sight made Glord's eyes water and he hissed, "What's wrong with them?"

Tebes answered, "They're smooth, perfectly smooth. Look at the readouts, each one has been scoured of all texture. The hills and valleys and craters have been erased, leaving them featureless."

Kazao breathed, "According to the cogitators their curvatures are perfectly exact to pi. Precise beyond the ability of the Logic Engines to calculate."

"Who could do such a thing?" Glord exclaimed, "Why would they do it?"

"Dunno," Schwift cackled, "Someone with too much time on their hands. But this is the place, two planets smooth as cue-balls. Look between them, in the Lagrange point, and you'll find what you seek."

"Move in closer and scan those coordinates," Reddam ordered.

Glord watched as the Peregrine chugged onwards, looking for their objective. The Hololith hazed again then cleared, revealing a strange sight. Hanging in the Lagrange point was a ring-shaped object as big as a fleet. Unlike the two planets it lacked any symmetry, all misshapen lumps and odd bulges and elongated off to one side to give it a melted appearance. It was roughly flat, though ten kilometres thick and the open space inside the ring was a hundred kilometres across at its narrowest point. The entire thing was formed out of dark stone, shimmering with reflected light which revealed strange glyphs and alien letters carved into its surface, each several kilometres long.

It resembled no language Glord had ever seen but the sight made him long for his Heavy Bolter. The entire edifice was foreboding and grim, a warning sign left for the universe to see and know this place was off-limits. There was an odd sense of watchfulness about it, like it was aware of the Peregrine's approach and it was only waiting for them to drift nearer before it gobbled them up. Everything about it made Glord want to either open fire or turn and retreat, anything would be better than drifting nearer as they were.

Reddam however was barking orders, "Full scans, I want to know everything about that Warp Gate. Keep us ten thousand kilometres away at all times, I don't want to trigger it prematurely. Record everything for analysis and get close up images of those glyphs, when the flotilla catches up well see if Nathanal can find a linguistic match in our archives."

Glord's palms were itching with alarm as he said, "Sergeant, are we sure we wish to proceed?"

Kazao concurred, "I have to say, this might be more than the Chapter can handle."

Reddam scowled as he snapped, "Where is your courage Brothers?! We have not come all this way to turn back at the last hurdle."

Glord lowered his head in contrition but Schwift argued, "No shame in admitting when you've bitten off more than you can chew."

Yet Reddam only lifted his head and declared, "Space Marines do not shrink from the dark, it quails before us. No matter what travails await us we shall overcome them and force the universe to bend to our will. Remember our creed: Cold hearts and fast blades!"

The crew let out a brief cheer and the squad joined them. Yet in his hearts Glord was worried. This was far more than they had expected and he could not help but feel they were about to walk into the Carnodon's den, like baby-grox to the slaughter.


	89. Chapter 89

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 89**

The way lay before him, open, inviting and unguarded. Nothing barred the approach of the flotilla, they could sail into the warp-gate with only his word. All their ships hung in geosynchronous orbit, maintaining a relative distance of ten-thousand kilometres. They were ready and alert, committed to the moment and awaiting the order to engage, yet the word did not come. For the first time in his life Coluber was hesitating.

On the bridge of the Wyvern Coluber stood on a Command Dias and stared into the Hololith. Around him hundreds of chattels worked in orderly rows at their consoles, filling the length of the bridge with productive noise and industrious activity. The bridge was bigger than a blockade runner's but yet small and spartan compared to a naval Cruiser's, bare of adornments or iconography. The crew were tending to their duties with due diligence but they cast occasional glances at the Chapter Master, wondering why he delayed.

Coluber didn't see them, his attention fixed solely on the Warp-gate. Outwardly he seemed calm but inside he wrestled with the enormity of what he was about to do. He was about to plunge his Chapter into the unknown, taking everything they had built into enormous danger. He did not doubt that one slip would spell the end of the Amber Vipers, as it had the Ghost Crusade. Mightier armies than his had traversed that gate and failed to overcome whatever lay on the other side. A full Chapter of Space Marines had sailed through and never been seen again, an order of Astartes who wielded more power in one ship than he boasted in his entire flotilla.

He was risking throwing everything away, one mistake ending the Amber Vipers once and for all. Everything he had built over the last decades would be erased and it would be as if they had never existed. The prize was a worthy one, not only material assets but the chance to bestow pride and dignity to his order, but the odds were farcical. For decades he had walked a perilous line between honour and pragmatism, glory and survival. He had carefully husbanded his might, spending his Brother's lives like a miser and calculating every engagement in terms of the blood lost against material gain. This reckless action ran counter to every policy he had established. He should not even be contemplating this action; he was a fool to be chasing so ludicrous a dream.

Perhaps the alternative was not so awful. Retreat and withdraw, go back to making grubby deals with governors and stealing outright what they could not trade for. The Chapter could continue to grow, increasing in number slowly. More ships could be acquired, more industrial capacity added to their logistics. Perhaps in time even pacts with Forgeworld could be sworn, granting them access to the finest of wargear. It was a safer course yet it lacked honour. The Chapter would never grow into the proud and resplendent band of noble warriors it should be. They would remain base and contemptible for the rest of his life. Then when the last of his generation passed the Amber Vipers would forget there was any other way, they would be comfortable with their ragged lifestyle and slovenly attitude.

Coluber wrestled with these thoughts for long moments, trying to decide whether to commit fully or play it safe. He dwelled long and hard on the matter, citing the Codex Astartes in his mind and other doctrines, but none gave him solace. Then at last a memory stirred, a passage he had read in Maru Kysoto's treatise and his resolve hardened. The warrior-poet had demanded total commitment in all things, without thought of safety or reserve. The prolific philosopher had written, 'Engage in battle fully accepting of your death and you will be truly alive. Dwell upon your return home in the midst of war and you are already dead. If you enter the drop-pod thinking of your return you shall be lost, but set forth determined not to return and you will see the way'.

His mind made up Coluber ordered, "Full power to the drives, take us in."

The bridge sprang into flurries of activity but behind him Ferrac asked, "You don't want to send the Peregrine in first? Schwift should know what's on the other side."

Coluber replied without looking around, "No, we are committed to this course. If we are to proceed let us do so with our heads held high."

From the bridge consoles Nathanal called, "There's some sort of gravity flux surround the gate, energy readings are erratic but growing. It doesn't look at all stable but it's doing something."

From the other side of him Shrios muttered, "It's waking up."

Coluber lifted his chin and declared, "Open the Oculus, let us see it with our own eyes."

At the far end of the bridge armoured louvres slid back over an armourglass window, revealing the warp-gate. It was a tiny dot in the distance but as the thousands of kilometres shrank to hundreds Coluber saw its lumpish form shimmering. The strange icons still defied translation but the cogitators were working on it, though the warnings were obvious. Motes of blackness were gathering in its middle, forming a cloud of shade that filled the ring. It billowed like a curtain before an open window, swaying forward and back at random. It seemed to be straining to hold together, its instability palpable and the sight made many chattels clutch devotional tokens and pray for deliverance.

Nathanal called, "There's some form of gravitational incline forming, it's pulling us in."

Ferrac muttered, "It wants to eat us."

Coluber however only proclaimed, "Have no fear men, face the unknown with cold hearts and fast blades. Here we go."

In moments the warp-gate swelled from a mote in the distance into a vast stretch of stone and billowing darkness. It filled the Oculus with its sheer enormity, a gaping maw ready to eat them whole then they plunged into the veil and disappeared from realspace. Coluber blinked furiously as his sight faded to nothing, leaving him and everyone else blind. Men cried out in alarm but in seconds their vision as restored, leaving them gazing into infinity,

Before the Oculus stretched a vast tunnel, wide enough to hold their entire flotilla with ease. It was curiously organic, swelling and shrinking with graceful curves that looked to have been grown in some fashion. The walls were a pale yellow colour, shimmering with internal light yet it was sickly and weak, flecked with black spots and patches of gloom. Some instinct told Coluber they should be a glorious golden hue, fit and healthy, but this was decayed and withered like a diseased limb surgically removed from the rest of the body.

"Some form of wormhole?" Shrios speculated aloud.

"Whatever it is it defies all Auspex scans," Nathanal muttered, "According to the surveyors there's nothing out there."

Ferrac asked, "Did Schwift say how long the voyage takes?"

Coluber replied, "He said it varied, the outgoing journey took seconds, the return trip days. Given how unstable the gate appeared it may prove…"

His words were cut off as the tunnel flared into a burst of light then vanished, leaving them somewhere else. Coluber blinked as the tunnel disappeared, leaving behind a vista of unknown stars. Space, clear and untroubled by nebula gases or eldritch phenomena lay before him, serene and untroubled. It was breathtakingly clear and pristine, a refreshing change after weeks staring into the turgid mass of the Masio Silentium.

Every face turned to stare at the Oculus but Coluber was already shouting, "Look alive! The moments after translation are the most vulnerable. Raise shields, run out the guns and make active auspex sweeps of local space. Tell me what's out there!"

The crew sprang to obey but Ferrac called, "Defences active, shields up."

"All ships accounted for," Shrios stated, "The flotilla is right where they should be. We appear to have emerged from another Warp-gate, a partner to the first one. It's falling behind as we sail on."

Nathanal sounded vexed as he spat, "Cogitators are going crazy. The Machine Spirits claim we have no navigational markers to triangulate our position; these stars match nothing in Imperial records. We must be a long, long way from known space. We may have left Segmentum Tempestus entirely."

"Contact the Navigator, ask him to seek the Astronomican, that should give us a rough idea where we are," Coluber ordered, "What of local space, what's out there?"

Ferrac moved to inspect a series of consoles and relayed, "Auspex is picking up mass-shadows but no power emissions. Hulks, lots of hulks, looks like we found Schwift's graveyard."

"Let me see," Coluber commanded.

The Hololith flickered and then icons began to appear. Surrounding the flotilla was a massive graveyard of dead hulks, ships of all scales and sizes drifting lifelessly in the void. There were massive battleships and proud cruisers, sleek frigates, wallowing troopships and bulbous mass-haulers. Not only human vessels but alien ones too, of a bewildering variety of origins and classifications. Silhouettes Coluber had learned to hate drifted alongside vessels from species he had never heard of, perhaps no human had ever heard of. Some looked recent kills, others were unspeakably old, but they were all dead. Sundered by the most fearsome of wounds and not a single ship was left intact.

Coluber passed an eye over a readout and recited, "Ork Kill Kroozers, an Eldar Void Stalker, Fra'al Etherskippers, Nicassar Dhows, a Kroot Warsphere, Demiurg Tradeships. There are so many, more than the surveyors can tell, they stretch well beyond our auspex range."

Ferrac pointed out, "There's a Retribution class Battleship."

Coluber read the ident, "The Swiftsure, flagship of Warmaster Drake himself. Looks like we found the Ghost Crusade but where were they heading, what target did they think to find here? Push the surveyors to maximum, I want to sweep the system for planetary bodies. There must a world out there somewhere."

Nathanal stooped to obey but Shrios put his hand to his ear and said, "Repeat that. You're serious? No… that's impossible."

"Shrios?" Coluber asked.

The Apothecary looked up and said, "The Navigator has fixed our position but it's nonsense. According to the Astronomican we're no longer in the Milky Way galaxy. We've left known space completely."

"We're in another galaxy?!" Coluber gasped in shock.

"Not quite," Shrios explained, "According to him this star system is located in the Sagittarius Dwarf Spheroid, a satellite galaxy orbiting the Milky Way. We're about seventy thousand light-years from Terra, straight up from the galactic plane."

Ferrac muttered, "Let us trust nothing happens to the Warp-gate or we face a long, long trek home."

Coluber's head was swimming with the very idea but then Nathanal exclaimed, "Holy Throne!"

"What else?" Coluber barked in bewilderment.

"You won't believe me if I told you", Nathanal replied, "You need to see this for yourself."

Coluber looked into the Hololith and saw it shift into a representation of the stellar system. The local star appeared, a red dwarf considerably smaller than Sol but still massive. No planetary bodies had been sighted yet but there was something near to the star, a tiny thread as thin as single hair in the image. It took Coluber a moment to compensate for the scales of interplanetary dynamics, then he realised to show up on the Auspex it had to be breathtakingly enormous.

Detailed readouts popped up on various consoles and he saw it was a construct of lines and nodes, encircling the star. It was formed of the same dark stone as the warp-gate, leaving no doubt that whoever made that portal had also built this artefact. Each tiny thread must be a hundred kilometres wide and ten thousand long, connecting to each other at nodal junctions. Surveyors could only reach a fraction of it but the curvature of the parts they could see told them enough to extrapolate the rest and the results made Coluber's knees weak. The construct was not only circling the star but stretched out in all three dimensions, encompassing the star in in a sphere of black stone.

Ferrac growled, "That's unexpected, Schwift didn't mention that."

"I suspect there's a lot he didn't tell us," Shrios concurred, "But what is it?"

"A Dyson Sphere," Nathanal exclaimed in wonder, "I've heard of the idea but no man's ever seen one. As far as I knew no race in history has boasted the technology to build a Megastructure on this scale."

"Why would they?" Ferrac asked, "You'd have to reduce a thousand planets to rubble in order to get enough raw material to build that. What's the point of it?"

"Limitless energy," Nathanal explained, "The output of a single star is immense, even a small Red Dwarf like that. If this thing is collecting even a small percentage of the star's emissions then it is producing more energy than the sum total of every planet in the Imperium of Man combined. "  
Ferrac looked wary as he said, "We really don't want to tussle with whoever built something like that."

The words brought Coluber back to the moment and he knew he had to focus. Whoever had built that structure had likely killed all these ships, vessels that were much more impressive than his own. Hanging around staring was a spectacularly bad idea and he determined to find his objective and get out as fast as possible. He drew himself up and said, "Reset the Surveyors to local space, concentrate on the nearest wrecks. Find me the densest concentration of human ships, that's likely the vector the Ghost Crusade lies in. If the Serpens Rex is anywhere, it's there. Move quickly before…"

Suddenly a cogitator started beeping loudly and all eyes turned to stare as Shrios yelped, "Are we being scanned?!"

Nathanal hurried over and hastily replied, "No, it's the translation cogitator. The Machine Spirit is letting me know it has found a match for those glyphs on the warp-gate. Someone's seen them before it seems. Give me that data-slate and let's see what you've got for me… oh… Oh no, oh Throne no."

"Nathanal," Coluber asked in concern.

"We are so Frakked," Nathanal breathed in dread.

"Speak to me!" Coluber barked.

In response the mortal passed up a data-slate. Coluber's eyes fell upon the text and he eagerly devoured it, only to have his stomach clench in wariness. The cogitator had indeed found a match for the glyphs, from a burgeoning threat that the Imperium had learned to fear and dread in equal measure. A power from the dawn of time, rising to sweep aside all who had come to think of the galaxy as being theirs.

"What's going on?" Ferrac asked in bewilderment, "Who is it?"

Coluber's mouth went dry and he croaked, "Necrons… We've just stumbled into a bastion of the Necrons."


	90. Chapter 90

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 90**

It began with the faintest stirring of consciousness in the deepest reaches of the data-storage crypts. Threads of awareness coursing through subatomic filaments into a solid-state quantum sepulchre, where they were enjoined into one whole. A mote of self-awareness was born but without sensory input it was nothing but a spark of intelligence, without context or perspective. Onto that shard of a mind was piled layers of memories, personality and character, adding complexity with every fragment of being that enjoined the growing intellect.

Like pouring Promethium onto a bonfire the mind grew into a majestic form, a towering intellect filled with pride and self-importance. Yet the disposition of the consciousness was still jumbled and confused, unable to settle into a fixed pattern. Without an external stimulus the mind could not process anything and so remained mere potential in the silent reaches of the sepulchre. This silent consciousness did not feel itself being transcribed into a memno-core orb, precisely layered into it one subatomic particle at a time. Neither did it feel the orb being conveyed with utter reverence to its intended destination. No reaction was forthcoming as the orb was installed into a body worthy of its majesty and then brought to wakefulness through a process the usurper races could only describe as technomagic. But it felt the sudden surge in perception as the eyes activated.

The first thing he saw was a wide chamber, echoing in its vast environs and cloaked in darkness. It was formed of dark stone, etched with ancient glyphs that glowed a faint green. Two lines of hunchbacked statues stretched before him, bearing heavy rifles with green crystal rods fitted into their casings. He did not know this place, or rather he did, but the memories would not come, still jumbled and confused in his mind. That should alarm him, he mused, he should be panicking but there was no such emotion in his being. All he knew was cold curiosity and an instinct, no, the memory of an instinct that this place was built for his majesty.

The next thing he noted was that he was standing upright in a hexagonal coffin, his body held still but reverently by cushioning gravitic fields. He was elevated above the statues on a short pyramid, with many steps leading down to the perfectly flat floor. Two more statues stood before him, one even more hunch-backed than the others but fitted with a rising twin headpiece and bearing a purple shawl of metal scales in its arms. The other was more upright and its head was higher and crowned with two bronze fans. Its chest bore a strange mark and on one arm hung a massive shield while the other held a tall stave. Memories shifted and the knowledge came that these were familiar, yes, they were known to him.

Finally came the sense of self and green eyes fell to take in a metal body. It was identical in form to the statues but far more regal in bearing, nearly upright in stance and with finer limbs and smoother finishes to the chest and hips. Shock and revulsion, panic and alarm, memory told him these should have been his responses, but there was nothing. No emotion stirred in his being, no fiery mote of a soul burned in his breast. Only a cold curiosity and sense of familiarity, like this had all been done before. The certainty grew in him; he had done this many times over.

Suddenly the hunched statue spoke, "Dread Lord, are you awake?"

The tall one then uttered, "We await your commands."

He looked at them and in a flat voice of mechanical inflexions spoke, "Who am I?"

The hunched one replied, "You are our master."

"We are your servants," the tall one said.

"Show me," came the words by rote.

A section of floor rose, globules of metal flowing together to make an upright pedestal like a wax candle melting in reverse. One side was perfectly reflective and in the surface he beheld a metal statue braced in a sarcophagus. It was indeed finer than the others, prouder and more regal. The head was framed by four bronze fins and from the narrow chin protruded a short metal adornment, like a plaited beard. The shoulders were covered by bronzed sheaves of armour and the chest was blackened while over the heart was stamped the same rune as he had seen before.

The sight stirred a response and finally memories slotted into place. Information flowed through his being, telling him everything he needed to know. Names, identities, places and dates. He knew who he was, he knew his dominions and servants and rivals. He knew the wars he had fought, the conquests and the defeats and the ancient hatred of his race, the unrelenting ire for their first enemy and the oppressors who had come after. Even in this cold and passionless state that hatred would never diminish. He was certain of his status, yet at the edges of his mind were a few dark spots, memories that hadn't returned properly or were distorted, like a missing piece in a child's puzzle.

Mathep brushed off his concerns as he stepped forward and commanded, "Dress me."

Inotep, the hunch-backed vizier of his court, stepped forward and presented the cape, fitting it to the shoulders as he intoned, "All bow before your sovereignty Dread Lord."

Tamunn, his unflagging Lychguard, presented his Chronostave and Resurrection Orb saying, "With these weapons you shall lead us to glory."

Mathep placed the orb to his hip and took up the Chronostave, examining the twin forks bracketing a glowing green crystal as he inquired, "Why has my slumber been disturbed?"

Inotep grovelled, "Dread Lord, the seventeenth Dolmen Gate has been activated, more usurpers dare encroach upon our domain."

"My domain," Mathep growled dangerously.

"Of course," Inotep grovelled, "It is your kingdom."

"Shall I ready your fleet to attack?" Tamunn asked.

"First things first," Mathep replied, "There are rituals to be observed, I am not yet myself. I shall deal with the usurpers in due time. Until then have the outriders watch the intruders, if they attempt to flee back to the Dolmen Gate then you have my sanction to cut their legs out from under them."

Mathep set off, walking down the steps and setting off across the black stone of the chamber. As he walked he passed the lines of soldiers to either side, the Necron warriors of the Hyktot Dynasty, last and proudest of all Dynasties. Mathep was Phaeron of this ancient kingdom, supreme overlord of all the Tombworlds in the satellite galaxy they claimed as their own. All paid him homage, from the lowliest warrior to the mightiest Overlord.

Mathep gave the warriors no mind as he walked, knowing they were incapable of thought. Like him these beings had once been alive, living breathing Necrontyr, until they had been marched into the biotransference furnaces and reborn as undying Necrons. Unlike him the common mass of his dead people had not enjoyed the very finest of neuro-sculptors and memory-transferring quantum splicers. They had been converted en-masse, given the simplest of bodies with the most basic of safeguards. Their Necrodermis skin did not wither or perish, eternally self-repairing and rebuilding, but their minds were not so fortunate. Neuron by neuron they had decayed, losing memories and personality each time they were cut down and reborn, until nothing remained but a hollow shell.

Mathep was the ruler of a kingdom filled with blank automatons, only the highest nobles and most learned Crypteks owning much in the way of personality anymore. The knowledge steeled his purpose and reminded him why he existed. The Necrontyr had been tricked into giving up their diseased flesh; little knowing the price would be their souls. All Necrons had left were their minds, and to lose that was a fate worse than death. Mathep would not allow that to pass, he would undo this affliction and restore all that had been lost.

More resolute than ever Mathep lead his companions out of the chamber and emerged onto a wide balcony. It was located high up the side of a black pyramid, that dwelt under the light of a flickering forcefield. The pyramid lay in the middle of a vast city, filled with lesser edifices. Pyramids, spires, mausoleums, tombs, crypts and vaults arose in all directions, each filled with waiting ranks of Necron warriors and their assorted war machines. It was eerily silent, bereft of birdsong or the swaying of trees or the soft sigh of wind, cold and deathly, a moment in time held in perpetual stillness. Between the palaces of the undying were wide boulevards, utterly silent and unoccupied save for the occasional drifting Canoptek Spyder, tending to the arcane systems that were the hallmark of the Necron's Technomagic.

The city stretched for a hundred kilometres ahead and behind, where it ended in impenetrable black stone walls. To left and right it continued for ten thousand kilometres, filling this spar of the Dyson Sphere that was the jewel in his kingdom. Above a forcefield capped the roof, flickering vaguely as it absorbed the ambient radiation of the star and kept the interior perfect in every measurable way. This mighty bastion was the glory of the Hyktot Dynasty, constructed when they still boasted flesh and blood and it had been the envy of all other Phaerons. He did not need C'tan shards, pieces of Dead Gods to fuel his empire, this one star provided all the energy his Tombworlds could ever need.

Waiting for him was his personal barque, resting where it always was. It was a black craft of smooth edges and curving flanks, with golden icons engraved into the metal. Two Necron warriors sat in sunken pits at the fore and at the rear rose a large curved arch, hovering overhead like a scorpion's tail. Mathep wasted not a moment to step aboard, his metal feet gripping the surface perfectly. His advisors boarded too and then the barque set off, flying over the city with regal majesty.

Mathep looked over his capital and asked, "Have the vassal Overlords awoken?"

Tamunn replied, "They await your commands."

Mathep stated, "I will address them in due course. In the meantime, what of Ashtari?"

Inotep answered, "The honoured Cryptek continues his labours. He requests more subjects to work upon."

Mathep replied dismissively, "He is welcome to take samples from the stasis-prisons, we have millions of animals for him to work upon. If the stock runs low I can always conquer more. As always the Dolmen Gates will provide."

Inotep paused then and said, "Dread lord… I do not believe it is the quantity that troubles him, it is quality. These animals that usurped the galaxy in our long slumber are inferior, to achieve your goal we need better ones."

Mathep was not placated and snapped, "Do not hide behind excuses. I expect results!"

But Tamunn replied, "The galaxy is awash with dregs and filth, such inferior stock will not do to make a suitable host for our minds."

Mathep accepted this as he lamented, "Our perennial flaw endures. Our science is unsurpassed but never have we been masters of our own selves. Our flesh bodies rebelled against us, tormenting us with cancers and rot, the spiteful gifts of the star that gave our race life. How we sought relief from our suffering, only to watch our ancient enemy laugh in scorn as our every attempt ended in failure. Then the great deceivers robbed us of our very souls, promising immortality while stealing the very essence of life. One enemy hid the secret of immortality from us; the other gave us a poisoned chalice. Our minds are innately superior but our bodies fail us, always the same enigma, but in different formats. No more I say, we will find a way to claim back all that was ours and more. Flesh and soul, emotion and immortality shall be ours. But only if Ashtari can unravel the secrets of life!"

His diatribe had seen them fly far over the city and now they approached a lesser pyramid. The barque settled down on a low roof and Mathep disembarked saying, "Stay here while I pay my respects." He walked down a short ramp sunk into the roof, entering the pyramid. One level down he found himself entering a garden, a perfect recreation of a pleasant park rendered in precious metals. There were trees with fractal-edged leaves, grass woven from silver threads, bushes made of gold wire and flowers with platinum blossoms. There was even a river made of purest sapphire, the light reflecting off it like water. Among the leaves moved a single Necron, one whose frame was as glorious as his own but hung with shimmering drapes, to make it appear like a gown.

Mathep stood for long minutes, staring at the vista and the sight stirred his memories. In the darkest corners of his being the final pieces of his consciousness slotted home and he remembered who he was and why he fought. This had once been the garden of his beloved daughter, Sustha, who loved this place more than any. She had been the light in his eyes and the sun in his sky, until the dreaded cancers that plagued the Necrontyr came for her. So young, so tearfully young. For her sake had he ended his resistance to the biotransferance and ordered his kingdom to march into the bio-furnaces, only to realise too late how he had been tricked.

Mathep did not speak to Sustha, there was no point. Not enough of her mind was left to converse with; she only endlessly replayed the same routines she had known in life. In truth Mathep no longer felt affection for her, such things had been ripped from him along with his soul, but he remembered what it was to have such emotions. This was what marked him apart from the other Phaerons scattered across the galaxy, he remembered what it was to live.

The rush of memories fixed his purpose and fired his determination, gifting him a resolve that had endured the Great Sleep and the frequent awakenings since. He would find a way to return to life, claiming new flesh-bodies and finally besting all those who had scorned his race. His hatred for them was pure and unbending, a cold fury that would never be quenched. This was not the hot rush of hormones and adrenaline usurper races called anger, no, it was an unbreakable will to achieve his goal no matter what it cost. Necrons knew not the emotion of anger, but hatred was a choice.

His purpose clear and his resolve set Mathep turned and strode from the garden. He would reclaim all that had been lost, even if it took an eternity. He would start with this latest batch of usurpers trespassing in his kingdom. They would fall before him, as had all others who had faced him over the long epochs.


	91. Chapter 91

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 91**

Space folded before him, twisted and compressed by inscrutable science. Teleportation was elementary for the Necrons, their ability to manipulate spacetime beyond any cruder races' understanding. For Mathep it was as simple as stepping between two rooms for him to leave his pyramid-palace and emerge onto the muster grounds, hundreds of thousands of Kilometres away.

He descended the short steps of the Monolith, while the swirling green portal vomited forth Tamunn and Inotep. Before him thousands of Necron warriors awaited in perfectly ordered rows, their gauss flayers held in exactly matching grips. Into the distance they stretched, so many they could not be counted, all leading up to another staked pyramid. That was the tip of his personal flagship, the Unending Empire, which was docked to the underside of the Dyson Sphere and waiting for his embarkation.

Mathep strode confidently away from the Monolith, a mighty example of Necron power. Part drop-ship, part assault tank and part mobile portal, they were at the forefront of his armies and had been the bane of countless foes. Of course Mathep could have gone straight to his ship but there were traditions to be upheld. The Hyktot Dynasty had always undertaken a review of their troops before battle and so Mathep continued. It would be pointless to restore the Necrons to life if they did not maintain their glorious heritage.

Mathep marched between basic warrior forms and heavier Immortals. One breed common rabble, the other former soldiers. Few among them were capable of speech anymore and those that were able only ever gave instructions and commands in battle, relaying his will to their blank brethren. Mathep didn't care though, so long as they obeyed his will.

Tamunn eyed them and wondered, "Do you think there is enough of them left to transition back to flesh?"

Mathep scoffed, "Irrelevant, the common rabble were always quick to breed. We can replace them one day, so long as the Lords of our race endure."

Inotep muttered, "Those lords can be troublesome, they scheme and plot behind your back. Zathoem most of all."

"I will deal with my impudent Nemesor after I return from our initial raid," Mathep declared, "Now attend, tradition must be observed."

Their march took them past the common troopers and into the packed masses of War Machines. Canoptek Spyders, floating above the ground with their multiple legs and heavy weapons hanging under heads festooned with lenses. Curved Doom Scythe fighters, the bane of the skies on a million worlds. Annihilation Barges, similar to his personal conveyance but laden with weapons that could blow straight through a tank and out the other side. None of these were Necrons, they were machines and nothing more but of an order so elevated that usurper races would cower before them regardless.

All was in order but Mathep was vexed when he spied lurking forms ahead. They were hunched, feral things, never still, with wicked talons for hands and hungry gazes. Their forms were draped in fresh skins, still dripping blood, ripped from the stasis-vaults where Mathep kept those he dragged away after his conquests. Intended as experimental subjects for his Cryptek to work upon, but they were subject to frequent raids by those lurking before him.

"Flayed Ones," Tamunn snarled as he brandished his ritual axe and shield.

"Drive them away," Inotep barked, "Before they infect us with their virus!"

Yet Mathep commanded, "Leave them be, they are no threat to us."

"But Dread Lord," Inotep cautioned, "You know the tales of their infection."

"I do not believe in neural virus' nor that looking upon them will infect us. Neither do I think it is a curse by a shattered C'tan or a last revenge of the Old Ones. It is simple neural decay, the same as blights the warriors. The Flayed Ones are forgetting who they are but their symptoms differ. Instead of apathy and ennui the Flayed Ones become slaves to their basest instincts. The need to feed, to feel blood and flesh once more, it is the last thing to fade, long after all sanity has decayed."

Their walk took them past floating Wraiths, their legs removed and hands boasting dripping talons. They shimmered as they faded in and out of space, phasing into dimensions the Necrontyr had mastered aeons ago. They could pass through matter as easily as air, making no hiding place safe from their searching eyes. Next to them floated Destroyers, lower bodies replaced with skimmer units and right arms with long cannons that could blow through armour like smoke.

Mathep waved his arm and expounded, "These are the same, their minds decay leaving only madness. They mutilate their bodies in the quest to satiate their basest urges. Destruction, hunting, it is all that is left of their minds. They will never return to the ranks of the living."

"Yes, Dread Lord," Inotep recited in the tone underlings use to humour a master who loves the sound of their own voice.

They left the mutilated hordes behind and advanced to a unit that held special regard in the Hyktot Dynasty. Tall warriors with single eyes and long-barrelled rifles in their hands. They were cloaked in darkness, half in realspace and half in some mysterious dimension only they knew. The elite snipers of the Deathmarks. In their hands lay Synaptic Disruptors, weapons capable of destroying neural tissue and leaving all other matter intact.

Mathep paused and proclaimed, "Deathmarks, our greatest contribution to the Necrontyr. The Hyktot pioneered their usage, spreading their skills to all dynasties and adding to the glorious might of our race."

"Yes Dread Lord," Inotep stated flatly.

"We were there," Tamunn reminded him.

Yet Mathep was going to continue regardless and spoke, "We shared the technology, as a noble Dynasty should but only the least iterations, the smallest scraps from the table. We alone commanded the greatest understanding of leptons and synapses. We possessed weapons that could scour worlds of all sentient life, leaving the biosphere and resources untouched for us to claim!"

Inotep gently reminded him, "Dread Lord, your troops eagerly await your address."

Tamunn added, "If we wait much longer our prey will die of old age first."

Mathep ignored them both as he walked off, continuing their traditional inspection of the army. It took a great deal of time for the army was vast, but they would not all be needed immediately. Tradition demanded a series of escalating raids, to capture biological samples and learn the enemy's weaknesses before their total annihilation.

Eventually their walk had brought them to the end and Mathep left his armies behind as he stepped onto a floating disc. Tamunn and Inotep joined him and the disc left the ground, floating upwards to grant a commanding view of the serried metal ranks of Necrons. The disc moved with stately grandeur and Mathep remembered the feelings of pride and self-importance that such sights had once stirred within him. When he was alive he had revelled in having millions bow before him, and knowing billions more only lived or died at his whim. He had enjoyed such things, but now such emotions were as removed from him as weather patterns viewed from orbit. He no longer felt superior, but that did not matter for he knew he was superior.

The disc floated upwards, where it enjoined with another stage. The two platforms merged together as he ascended, living metal flowing and conjoining at an atomic level to become one whole. Upon the stage were two other beings, one a living wretch taken from the stasis-vaults, the only breathing thing in the assembly. She was kneeling on the platform, head bowed and Mathep vaguely noted the animal was of the Eldar species.

Yet his greater attention was reserved for the Necron looming over her. This one was even more hunched than Inotep, stooped and limping. It had been modified in strange ways, but unlike those corrupted troopers below this was not a symptom of neural decay but cruel and calculating intellect. The frame bore four arms, each one tipped by a clawed hand that had a green jewel on the back. One of these hands bore a curled lash that shimmered and blinked in and out of existence, glowing bluely as it sliced air molecules apart. The head was fixed with one single eye, set in the centre like some creature of myth. Finally it bore long black vestments that cascaded down its shoulders and back. These twitched and shimmered constantly, always in motion, for they were not feeble cloth but millions of microscopic scarabs, obeying the will of the bearer like an extension of his body. This was Ashtari, foremost Cryptek allied to the Hyktot and the only one capable of achieving the goal of returning his race to life.

Mathep inclined his head slightly, for Ashtari was the one individual in his kingdom he could not afford to insult. Servants and vassals and rivals he had aplenty but Crypteks were an order apart, free to come and go as they will and Mathep had no wish to lose the service of the greatest bio-weaver who had ever been born and reborn. The Phaeron spoke first, "Ashtari, you have my gratitude for coming."

Ashtari replied in a voice modulated to recreate his leering drawl from life, "I saw the far-scans and it pleases me. My bio-augurs detect the presence of the genic-gets once more, the usurper's crafted-warriors."

Mathep replied, "Ah yes, you spoke highly of their potential contribution to the great work."

"Never have I been closer to weaving a perfect host," Ashtari lamented, "But their maker was canny and hid the secrets of their creation, there is something in them beyond mere genic manipulation, an echo of the Warp writ in flesh. Even I must admit begrudging respect for so cunning an adversary. I was close to unravelling his secrets, so very close, but I ran out of subjects before I could complete my labours."

"Then we shall acquire more," Mathep assured him, "I see you brought the animal."

Ashtari waved one his many arms saying, "Do you wish to…"

"All in good time," Mathep said, "Tradition must be observed."

Mathep turned to the massed crowds of waiting Necrons and declared, "Soldiers of the Hyktot Dynasty, today is a day that shall echo forever. Our race once ruled the galaxy, we were the lords of creation. Then it was all stolen from us, by our ancient enemy, by the deceivers who promised us immortality. We have known betrayal, we have known deceit and defeat and when we arose from our Great Slumber we found our rightful domains infested by usurpers and inferior species. No more, today we set forth to take back what was stolen from us. Today the Hyktot takes the first step back to glory!"

No cheers greeted his words, no thunderous applause or stamping feet. The warriors below were incapable of such responses, they remained as they were, indifferent to anything save orders. It did not matter though, as it did not matter that he had made this exact speech many thousands of times over. Word for word repetitions occurring every time he led his army forth. All that mattered was the traditions of the Necrontyr endured, forever remembered by their Necron successors. When they reclaimed their flesh such practices would live again.

Mathep turned to the others and waved them forward, Ashtari dragging the Eldar animal forward and threw her at the Phaeron's feet. Mathep looked upon the vermin and knew it was a good choice, drawn from the stasis-vaults far below where millions of such prisoners dwelt. Intruders into his domain or captives taken in raids beyond the Dolmen Gates, the vaults were filled with the paused lives of those Mathep had conquered.

Mathep gripped his Chronostave and glared as he spat, "You filthy creatures think to rule the stars, to take what is ours. Just like your makers you deny us our due. You think yourselves kings of the galaxy but know that in truth you are nothing but weapons, failed attempts to deny our majesty. They made you to wage war, nothing more, yet they gifted you what they would not give us. In their cruelty and their malice the Old Ones denied the Necrontyr salvation from our short, diseased lifespans and gave you lives measured in millennia! Thus I take them from you."

He lowered the Chronostave the green crystal on the tip flared wildly, crackling arcs of power leaping out to touch the twin prongs and they shimmered as spacetime contorted around them. Usurper races would have decried this as sorcery but there was nothing of the Warp in it. The Necron's mastery of science surpassed all other's. Their complete understanding of the material universe let them manipulate the dimensions of realspace in ways others could never comprehend, let alone replicate.

Mathep lowered his stave at the prisoner and with a thought unleashed Chronometric streams of raw entropy. The Eldar screamed as time crumpled around her, years of life being robbed from the cells of her body with each passing second. Time rippled in an incredibly focused area as Mathep poured out his hatred, drowning the prisoner in years and decades and centuries. Eldar were notoriously long-lived but entropy could not be denied and the prisoner withered before his eyes, becoming haggard and gaunt as her hair rotted and her eyeballs greyed over.

Mathep kept the entropy at its lowest ebb, to prolong her torment, as he snarled, "Why did they give you immortality and not us?! What made your race so special?!"

"Please…" the living skeleton the prisoner had become begged.

But Mathep only growled, "They gave you everything but you don't deserve it. I take it back, every second of your life, all your centuries. I claim them all!"

One last burst of power flared and then the prisoner collapsed into a pile of mouldy bones, wrapped in rotting rags. The bones fell apart in seconds, becoming dust which then became free-floating atoms, leaving no trace she had ever lived. Mathep raised his Chronostave and declared, "The ritual sacrifice is complete. Board the ship."

Far below the ranks of Necrons turned and began marching in sequence into the distant pyramid of the Tombship. Meanwhile Ashtari fixed the Phareon with his one eye and mused, "Strange, your behaviour betrays traces of biological motivation. Were it not impossible I would say you are angry."

"Angry?" Mathep spoke, "No I am not angry, I have only clear and unwavering purpose. I shall claim back all that was taken from us, no matter the cost. Hatred is a choice and I choose to make our enemies suffer, so they will know how inferior they are before they die. It is a lesson I shall take to the stars and when the time is right the whole galaxy will acknowledge the superiority of the Necrons!"


	92. Chapter 92

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 92**

The tension on the bridge was an oppressive weight bearing down on every man. Chattels tended to their consoles with hunched backs and furtive expressions. Orders were passed via whispers, lest raised voices summon doom. Even the Space Marines were subdued, their faces grim and manner stiff. The mortals didn't understand what the danger was, they had never heard of Necrons, but if their lords were worried then that was cause for alarm in itself.

Coluber felt the same distress gnawing at him. He too was worried, his equilibrium upset and his brow furrowed with concern. That he had led his Chapter into the sight of the Necrons was a guilty mote in his soul. Many times he had debated abandoning his mission and fleeing back to the Warp-gate, leaving the Carnodon's den before it ate him. Yet he did not give the order. He was a Space Marine and it was not in his nature to abandon a mission before its culmination. Danger and death held no fear for him and he would continue until his last breath. He only wished that final exhalation did not seem so certain, or so soon.

Behind him Shrios muttered, "Look another warp-gate. What's that, four?"

Coluber glanced into the Hololith and stated, "Four indeed and probably more out there we haven't found yet. There's no telling where they lead, it could be anywhere."

"Explains why we've seen ships from places as remote as the Eastern Fringe and the galactic maw and the Halo Stars. They must be capturing vessels from every corner of the galaxy."

Indeed the Hololith was festooned with icons. Dead hulks stretching as far as the surveyors could tell. For hours the flotilla had been picking its way through the graveyard, searching for the heart of the Ghost Crusade. Deeper and deeper among the drifting hulks they had pressed, the passing craft of every race known and more of unknown species. Some hulks looked fresh kills, others older than Mankind itself, but all were dead. During their voyage they had encountered more Warp-Gates and Coluber knew this threat was far more widespread than he had ever dreamed, the Necrons were certainly awake and they were active.

He spoke quietly so none but Shrios could hear, "We have explained the mystery of the Masio Silentium. The Necrons must be responsible for all the missing colonies, fleets and convoys."

Shrios frowned as he replied, "But that means they are not just sitting here waiting for ships to drift through the Warp-gate. They are actively going into the Milky Way, attacking any world they find. There's no telling how many worlds they've overrun."

That hadn't occurred to Coluber and he mused, "The Masio Silentium may only be a small corner of their hunting ground. Think of accursed names like the Abyss of Juthor, the Whispering Reefs, the Ghoul Stars, the Dolorous Vortex, the Elusian Maze, the Burmarda Triangle. Are they also connected to this place? Are they all hunting grounds of the Necrons?"

Shrios lifted an eyebrow and asked, "What are these Necrons?"

"You don't know?"

Shrios sniffed, "I've been busy creating generations of recruits. I mean, I've seen the tactical reports and captured Astropathic distress calls. Worlds depopulated by metal men, rising from ancient tombs to slaughter the living. But there's no hard facts on who they are and where they come from. I don't know who built them or why."

Coluber lamented, "No one truly knows, save maybe the most learned Archmagi of Mars but we don't have access to their thoughts. The Necrons may be the detritus of forgotten wars, slaves of a dead Xenos race or Abominable Intelligences who exterminated their makers. They could be tools of an artificial civilisation or the seeds of a Xenoforming project, left to eliminate competitors so another race can return to reclaim the galaxy. We don't know anything concrete, save that after sixty million years of slumber they have awoken to cleanse the galaxy of life, and their technology is advanced beyond anything humanity can comprehend."

Shrios asked, "Has anyone beaten them?"

Coluber sighed, "Distressingly few and always at great cost. Armies have been obliterated, fleets destroyed, great champions laid low. Even the self-righteous Ultramarines could barely hold them at bay, and at such a cost as to make victory taste bitter as defeat."

"Let us hope they don't notice us before we get what we came for and get out of here."

Their conversation was interrupted as Ferrac called, "We've found something!"

"Put it on the Hololith," Coluber commanded.

The projection shimmered and then reformed, displaying an immense ship. It was a vast cathedral adrift in the void, with a hammerhead prow and a rising series of bastion keeps over the stern. The engines were baffled by ablative bulwarks and every inch of it was covered in thick armour, from the stacked ranks of the gundecks to the dappled drop-pod tubes and the gaping bombardment cannons on the dorsal spine. A Battlebarge, in the colours of the helm Coluber had confronted Schwift with. It was a ship of the original Amber Vipers and it was dead.

Midway up its length the Battlebarge had been neatly sliced in two, like a slab of meat on a butcher's chopping block. In the rent lay exposed corridors, pipes, transit tubes and munition lines, their edges so precisely cut that it seemed if one were to push the two halves back together they would fit perfectly and the ship would be whole. Only one thing marred this dream, a tangled spar of adamantium beams and plasteel girders in one corner, holding the prow and stern together. It made the eyes water to look upon, the connection between the titanic slabs of metal so gossamer thin and fragile. As the great ship spun one was convinced every second would see it snap and the two halves would go flying away from each other. And yet they never did.

"The Way of the Warrior," Coluber breathed in awe, "The Amber Viper's flagship."

Shrios muttered, "It must have died defending its homebase."

"Yes," Coluber concurred, "Implore the surveyors for more range, find the Serpens Rex!"

Furious activity arose as Chattels obeyed and every man bent to the task at hand. After a few minutes a great cry went up. Coluber looked eagerly into the Hololith as the image came into focus, excitement building within him, only to be cruelly dashed. Amid a gathering of Ghost Crusade ships hung a starfort, an immense bastion of armour and guns and engines. It was resolute and defiant in the black of night, its walls standing against the worst the universe could throw at it. The Serpens Rex, as proud and noble as he had imagined. Yet that defiance was a hollow boast, for the base was a wreck.

Coluber's eyes scoured the image and saw the base had suffered terrible wounds. The mighty bastion's walls were shattered, blown into rubble by weapons of dread power. Holes large enough to fly a frigate through drilled in one side and out the other of the base, leaving clear tunnels bored through its mass. The docking piers were snarled tangles of wreckage and the outer guns had been ripped from their braces. The four cathedral-drydocks, big enough to berth a Battlebarge, had been torn to splinters. The shield vanes were kindling, the engines cold and the holy shrines reduced to gaping craters. The central mass must once have been a forest of skyscraper towers, but now they were truncated stumps, only one tower in the heart of it left intact. The Serpens Rex looked like the fist of a god had pummelled it into submission, and then been kicked to death as it bled out.

"Fang-Rot," Ferrac breathed in dismay, "It's ruined."

Coluber's hope burned to ash as he saw the tangled wreckage that had once been a starfort and he sighed, "All this way, all those years of searching, only to find this."

"Maybe it's salvageable," Shrios pondered, "Nathanal?"

The mortal was staring into a console and mused, "Without getting in there to examine the superstructure I can't say. The surface damage is catastrophic but if the Adamantium bones are intact it may hold together. I will have to... oh, this odd… a faint power emission. It's barely there but there is a trickle of energy flowing. Perhaps one of the reactors is still ticking over, its not quite as dead as it looks."

Warily Coluber asked, "Assuming you can get it moving, how long will you need?"

"Days, weeks, months, decades," Nathanal guessed, "If the superstructure is sound, if the drives are intact, if the reactors can be awoken and if I can bodge some manoeuvring thrusters into alignment it might be possible to steer the base out of here."

Shrios turned to Coluber and said, "That's a lot of 'ifs'. Perhaps we should give this up as a lost cause and take a more modest prize. A couple of those Strike Cruisers we passed seemed repairable."

Coluber sighed, "I am loathe to admit it but you may be right. A single Strike Cruiser would still be the greatest advance we have known since Athelling. Two would have seemed a miracle only a few years ago."

Their debate was cut short as Ferrac suddenly shouted, "Horus' Blood! Contact! We have an active contact closing. It's moving under its own power and its heading this way fast, damned fast."

"Sound general quarters!" Coluiber shouted, "All hands to action stations. Raise shields, run out the guns, Primus Cohort to the launch bays!"

Furious activity broke out as the crew ran to obey and he knew across the Flotilla chattels would be loading macrocannons, stirring void shields to life and closing blast doors. The Amber Vipers themselves would be running to their posts, ready to defend their ships against boarding parties and Primus Cohort would be preparing to launch a counter-offensive. The full might of the Chapter would be readying itself but Coluber was keenly aware of how lacking their firepower was, everything he commanded was not a match for one Battlebarge.

Nathanal was wrestling with a surveyor and he muttered, "Come on, resolve the image. Omnissiah damn you… no, I don't care if you think it's not really there… show me what you've got."

"Nathanal?" Coluber asked as he gripped the rail of his Dias.

"One second," the chattel muttered, "There, I've got an image."

The Hololith flickered and cleared to show a vessel closing, bigger and more powerful than anything Coluber had ever dreamed. It was a colossus of black metal and dark stone, thickly armoured around the engine blocks and mounted by a serried Pyramid where the bridge should be. Its prow was a great arc of black stone threaded with golden veins, a crescent fifteen kilometres across, as wide as an Imperial Battleship was long. It could fit the entire flotilla into the space between its prongs with room to spare and the idea of confronting such a foe seemed laughable. Coluber felt dread as he had never known creep over him, the sight of the vessel like seeing a monster of ancient myth brought to life. A void-farer's tale of extinct horrors from the dawn of time closing upon him with terrifying alacrity.

"Tombship," Coluber breathed in horror.

Nathanal exclaimed, "Look how it moves! That monster could outrun a torpedo destroyer. It's like inertia isn't even a factor for them. Energy emissions like nothing I've ever seen before, some form of inertialess drive."

"Orders?" Shrios asked quietly.

Coluber set his jaw and commanded, "All vessels lock on target and prepare a coordinated broadside, I want the entire flotilla to fire as one."

Shrios leaned in and whispered, "You know all that will do is piss them off."

Coluber knew it but stated, "I am Astartes, it is not in my nature to die with unfired rounds in my guns."

With impossible speed the Tombship closed, crossing light-seconds at near luminal velocities. An Imperial vessel would have taken minutes to close but the Necrons covered the distance in moments. Coluber's eyes widened as he thought the enemy intended to ram them but at the last instant the Tombship decelerated. In one second it went from near light-speed to a relative halt just off the port bow. It was impossible, the inertial forces involved should have ripped the ship apart, spreading its wreckage over half the stellar system but the Necron vessel was completely untroubled. It ignored physical laws as if they simply did not apply, changing speed and direction with total disdain for the rules of space travel all lesser species must obey.

Coluber found himself confronted by a vast battleship sitting off his bow at point-blank range and he drew in a breath to give the order to fire. But before he could do so golden arcs of power surged out of the prow crescent of the tombship. Coruscating beams of blinding light intersected in the dead space of the middle, merging together to form a dazzling sphere of energy. Like a star in the night it blazed for a single second, painful to look upon, then it exploded outwards, expanding in all directions to engulf the Flotilla.

The Wyvern's bridge rocked wildly and chattels went flying as the whole ship lurched in space. Coluber held on for dear life as he roared, "What hit us?!"

Nathanal yelled, "Some form of Stella Pulsar, the cogitators think we've been struck by a solar flare. Shields are down, all ship's shields are down!"

"Return fire!" Coluber bellowed.

Before a single shot could be fired the Tombship glimmered greenly and then the Hololith shut down, every console plunging into darkness. Then they began flickering randomly, fitzing and shorting out with no rhyme or reason. Screams arose as chattels panicked and Coluber barked, "Report!"

"Remote energy drain," Nathanal hollered as he punched a flickering console, "We've lost main power, guns are unable to fire, engines dead, life-support coming and going at will."

"Launch Primus Cohort," Coluber snarled.

"No good," Nathanal cried, "The hanger bay doors aren't responding, we can't even open them."

"We're dead in the water," Coluber whispered, "And we didn't even get to fire a single shot. Not one shot."

"What do we do?" Shrios asked in dread.

Coluber had no answer for him, his ships were helpless and the Necrons could finish them off with a single volley. The Amber Vipers were at the enemy's mercy and he knew well Xenos had no mercy. Yet just as death seemed certain Ferrac's head snapped about and he called, "Intruder alert, decks fifty through seventy-five. We're being boarded!"

"Not just us," Nathanal added, "Every ship is voxing the same alert."

There was no time to ask why the Necrons chose to board, when they could kill the Amber Vipers from afar. There was only the fight at hand and Coluber drew Venom as he voxed, "All Brothers engage and repulse the invaders. Make the price of your lives high, if we are to die let us make sure the enemy knows they've been in a damned fight!"


	93. Chapter 93

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 93**

The Peregrine rang with alarms, tinny blares of distress filling the corridors. Lighting flickered erratically as power was drained from systems, then restored, then drained again. Air recyclers spluttered and fitted as they struggled to keep the crew alive and servitors spasmed with seizures as their brains were robbed of Motive Force. Through it all came the screams of the Chattels, filled with dread and the conviction that their doom had come.

Glord sensed the panic in the air as he jogged past the wailing mortals, leaving them in his wake as he ran towards danger. In his hands he bore a drum-fed Heavy Bolter, his customary weapon. It was a bulky and awkward weight but he bore it stoically as he ran. A pair of mortals would have struggled to lift it, let alone walk, but Glord was Transhuman and he hefted the awkward weight without complaint. He wasn't about to leave it behind, by all accounts they were going to need it.

Before him ran the rest of the squad, bearing their weapons in tight grips. He knew them all well, each weapon complementing the wielder's fighting style. Larus and his poisoned knives, Kazao and his Krieg-pattern grenade launcher, Joffel and his chitin bonesword. Tebes hefted a doughty mining pick and Sergeant Reddam held his shining power spear aloft, leading the way. With such weapons had the squad bested heretics and rebels and Orks on a dozen worlds, proving their superiority each time. Yet never had they been tested against a foe as alien as the Necrons and Glord was troubled that they may not prove enough.

As they ran he called to Larus, "How are you going to poison them? They're some form of automaton."

Larus brandished a glistening knife and spat, "I was planning on ramming this into an eyesocket, poison or not that should do the trick."

"Automatons?" Tebes asked, "Like the Cadmus Robots?"

"Not nearly so warm and cuddly," Reddam snarled.

"Any chance the Cerberii will deploy?" Larus enquired.

"You'd call on them to fight?!" Glord exclaimed in surprise.

"Right now I'm feeling kindly disposed to having some Fission-Blasters at my back," Larus muttered.

Reddam spat in vexation, "Forget them, we'll confront these Necrons with the weapons we have and destroy them!"

"I hope so," came a breathless voice from behind. That was Schwift, the old smuggler running behind them. For a withered ancient he had a surprising turn of speed and had managed to keep up with the Amber Vipers, though his breathing was becoming ragged. He carried a pair of laspistols in his hands and by the looks of things the mortal knew how to use them.

"I thought we told you to stay on the bridge!" snapped Joffel.

"Ain't staying all alone," Schwift gasped, "Reckon safest place is right by you lads."

Glord was annoyed but Reddam barked, "Stow the chatter, boarders are three decks down. We have to get there before they slaughter the entire crew!"

The Peregrine was only a small ship and the squad make quick work of the journey. They descended cargo ramps and crew stairwells, dropping within the bulk of the ship. Ahead came terrified screams, the sounds of men and women dying in unspeakable agony. It was the wail of the damned and Glord knew the scene was being repeated across the flotilla, on every ship the Amber Vipers owned. The Necron ship had disabled the entire Flotilla as easily as switching off a lumen orb, leaving the humans helpless. He could not do anything about the situation though, all he could do was fight.

The squad burst out of a stairwell only to encounter a rushing stream of humanity, chattels desperately fleeing from something behind them. Glord felt impacts crash into him as rioting people fled for their lives. The impacts would have bowled over a mortal man but Glord braced his feet and held firm, standing against the tide. Fearful Chattels fought each other to get past him and one man slammed bodily into him, dazing himself with the impact. Glord was about to throw him aside but before he could move there was a flash of green light and the mortal was struck by something from behind.

Glord has never heard of Gauss weapons but he was about to witness their horrific effects firsthand. Time seemed to slow before Glord's eyes as he beheld the man starting to unravel. First his hair began to crumble, falling off his head even as it flaked into dust. His clothes followed suit, fraying apart as green light ripped their atomic bonds asunder, scraps of cloth falling off as they dissolved into nothingness. Skin and muscle followed next, offering no more resistance than the clothes had. Perfect anatomical details were revealed as the outer layers of the man boiled off, ripped away one atom at a time. Capillaries, nerves and sinews were exposed, only to vanish a second later, blood evaporating in mid-air so not a drop touched the floor. Then all that was left was a screaming skeleton, standing upright before Glord as it crumbled into ash and blew away like smoke in the wind. Where the man had stood was nothing, absolutely no trace he had ever existed remained and all this had taken two seconds to occur.

Glord's jaw dropped in horror and beyond he caught his first glimpse of the Necrons. Hunch-backed forms of glistening silver stood in a wide corridor. There was no trace of skin or muscle anywhere upon them, only metallic bone was evident. Ribs and pelvis and vertebrae were visible and their faces were blank metal masks with grim slits for mouths. In their hands were black rifles fitted with glowing green crystals, with curved blades handing from the barrels to give them a scythe-like appearance. They looked like skeletons dipped in silver but in their eyes burned a spark of intellect, cold and cruel and filled with hatred. To look upon them was to feel the ancient malice of a race that had ruled the stars while humans still swung from trees and their arrogant disdain had not lessened one jot since.

The Necron warriors saw the Space Marines arriving and glowing Gauss rifle swung to bear but Glord was faster. He mashed the trigger of his Heavy Bolter and opened fire. Thunderous booms let rip as the weapon spewed Mass-reactive shells, filling the corridor with fiery contrails and exploding rounds. Bolt shells struck silver bodies and burrowed deeply within, detonating in sprays of liquid metal. Ribs were penetrated and blown outwards, limbs shorn free and hips demolished and the ten Necrons staggered under the onslaught, many falling to the ground. Glord held on to his juddering weapon, the recoil shaking his bones and making his teeth rattle in his jaw as he bellowed, "Die Xenos scum!"

Ceaselessly he fired, drowning the Necrons in shells until at last the drum ran dry and silence fell. Warily Glord looked upon his handiwork, yearning to know how many he had killed, but to his horror the Necrons weren't dying. As he watched liquid metal shimmered across their bodies, tendrils of mercury reaching across gaping holes to close wounds. Craters disappeared, bones reformed and dented skulls righted themselves before his eyes as the Necron regenerated. He even saw an arm extend liquid tendrils towards the shoulder it had been blown from, joining together as if nothing had ever happened. Glord couldn't believe his eyes, he had emptied an entire drum of ammunition at the Necrons and failed to kill a single one. They were all rising to their feet, and bringing their dread weapons to bear.

Glord stood aghast but Reddam suddenly leapt last him, spearpoint flying as he roared, "Take them in melee!" The Sergeant dove in among the undying foe, spear flashing as he disappeared into the press of enemies. The squad followed suit, yelling defiance as they closed. Joffel was first to strike, his bonesword cleaving a viscous gouge down a Necron's flank. Again he struck and again, each time tearing long furrows into the metal body but each time they closed over a second later, leaving no impression. In return the Necron swung its blade at him, forcing him to dodge lest he be gutted.

Larus threw himself at a Necron, knives stabbing deeply into the chest. Hissing wounds were left as the poison on the edges ate at living metal but the wounds were no slower to close and toxic chemicals that had laid low hundreds were shrugged off like raindrops. Meanwhile Kazao reversed his grip on his grenade launcher and clubbed a Necron about the head with a blow that would have staved in a human skull. The Necron merely paused for a moment as the dent in its head corrected itself, then it tried to cut off his legs with a low sweep. Behind them Schwift proved worse than useless, firing wildly into the air and hitting nothing but wall.

It was Tebes who was having the greatest success, the flat side of his mining pick catching a Necron in the side and making broken ribs sag inwards. A reverse swing sank the pointed side into its heart and made it stagger, limbs trembling with vibrations like it had palsy. Tebes roared in anger as he gathered his strength and came at it with a roundhouse blow, smashing the head clean from the shoulders and making it fly away. The Necron collapsed to the floor and as it did so it shimmered with green light, a strange rippling passing over it like wind on a still pond. Then it faded away, phasing out to nothingness like it had never been there.

Joffel desperately parried a scything blade and shouted, "Frak, these things don't die right!"

"Herd them to me!" Reddam yelled.

Glord twisted to look and saw the Sergeant was indeed inflicting fierce wounds. His blazing power spear was rending through metal limbs and smashing bodies apart, showers of sparks flying from every blow. The spear's crackling energy field seemed to be countering the Necron's regenerative effect, not negating it by any means but inflicting such gaping wounds that it took much longer for the Necrons to undo the damage. The wounds slowed their motions, leaving them limp and disabled, vulnerable for a follow-up blow. He took full advantage of their injuries to plunge his spear tip into eyes and hearts, or places hearts should have been, and when he did so Necrons would collapse and phase out completely.

He had already eliminated two Necrons and the squad changed tactics, herding the Necrons into a confined space and keeping them distracted so Reddam could finish them off. The tide seemed set to turn but suddenly Glord saw a pair of green eyes fix upon him as a Necron lurched at him. The heavy weapon trooper had been hanging back, looking for a shot as he reloaded but was forced to throw himself backwards as a silver blade passed inches from his head. The Necron was slow compared to a Space Marine but Glord's hands were full and he could not engage properly. Plus the Necron had a ponderous inevitability to its motions, a sense that nothing would stop it until it had ended his life. Worse than that was the silence, it made no battlecries or hisses of anger, it was implacable and unspeaking and all the more terrifying for it.

Glord threw himself aside, then twisted right as the Necron hacked at him, chasing him with relentless determination. He tried to kick its legs from under it but his boot made no impact, the shining knee joint as rigid as power armour. In return the scythe blade came at him again and Glord only saved himself from having his heart ripped out by lifting his Heavy Bolter to block.

The silver blade smashed through the casing of the honourable weapon, cleaving deeply within and cracking the barrel. Glord's eyes went wide at the offence to the Machine's Spirit and he heaved back, trying to wrest it free. The Necron tugged against him, resisting his efforts and the pair wrestled back and forth for supremacy. Something had to give and it turned out to be the Heavy Bolter, ripping apart as the scythe blade sheared through the barrel completely. Glord was left holding two shattered halves of his weapon and his anger surged at the death of his noble weapon. Without thought his hand flew to his belt and he ripped free his knife as he charged at the Necron shouting, "Raaagh!"

The Necron tried to block but was too slow as Glord barrelled into its mass and drove his knife into its eyesocket. Green lenses shattered as the knife plunged deep and then his finger found the trigger rune. Inside every fang was a micro-compression coil, used to eject aerosolised gas from the tip. A vial of concentrated acid was emptied as the gas flew forth, spraying corrosive chemicals straight into the Necron's brain and the warrior's head blew apart, sending dissolving chunks of metal in all directions. Glord hissed as splatters of acid painted his bare arms but the pain was worth it to see the foe shimmer and vanish, passing out and returning from whence it came.

Glord looked about and saw the squad had driven the rest of the Necrons into submission, leaving the corridor clear of foes. The last of them phased out before his eyes and then there was only silence and blood, the many wounds the squad had taken clotting over as their genhanced bodies made good their injuries. Kazao in particular had a terrible wound in his left arm, the flapping fibres of his scout-plate stained with blood and parting to reveal the scaly mutation of his skin that set him apart from his Brothers.

Glord deliberately averted his eyes and felt cuts he did not remember taking stinging as he gasped, "It's over."

Yet Larus snorted, "Ten down, Emperor alone knows how many billions more to go."

Glord looked down and lamented, "My noble Heavy Bolter…"

"Mourn later," Reddam declared, "This has barely begun."

Suddenly Schwift appeared from nowhere and asked, "Is it over?"

Glord snapped angrily, "Fat lot of good you were!"

But Reddam snapped, "Leave him, we have more reports of intruders on the next deck. Far greater in number and more are appearing every minute. Gather your strength, we will destroy every last one of them or die trying!"

With that Reddam led them to the next fight and Glord followed, vowing to exact vengeance for his lost weapon.

Top of Form

Bottom of Form


	94. Chapter 94

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 94**

Space folded around before him, contorting and twisting to allow him passage. With as much effort as passing from one room to another Mathep boarded the usurper vessel, emerging somewhere within its fetid depths. With him came his Lychguard Tamunn, ever ready to defend his lord, not that he truly needed it anymore. Inotep stayed on the Tombship, the Vizier maintaining the traditional courtly advisor's place well behind the lines.

Mathep found himself stepping into a grim passageway, running up the length of the ship. Like all usurper's vessels it was unremarkable, falling well below the standards of the Necrons. The walls were inferior metal/ceramic alloys, brittle and perishable in nature. Primitive technologies were evident, bolted to the walls or running overhead through imperfectly sealed pipes and cables. Feral idols and fanes were spaced along the thoroughfare, some crude depictions of a skeleton in a golden chair alongside red wax blobs with parchment trailing from them. The air was laced with chemical spills and sewage molecules, his olfactory senses picking out such levels that even the primitives themselves must be able to smell the stench. Everything about this vessel seemed roughshod, temporary and provisional, liable to fall apart after only a few thousand years of use.

Mathep was no longer capable of feeling disgust but dissatisfaction rang through him, the understanding that his expectations had not been met. This seemed poor pickings for his armies. And yet there was one exception, for he recognised this breed's handiwork. The construction of the vessel matched one of the more common vermin races infesting the galaxy. He had achieved great success harvesting their colonies and convoys, bringing many millions of experimental subjects to his stasis-vaults. If the Bio-readings were accurate then these ships boasted the warrior-caste of that race, an order of genic-gets bred only for war.

Memory stirred as he remembered his last encounter with such a force. They had come at the head of an army, many ships and legions of troops at their back. Such a battle had they waged, a conflict that rang in his memories. He could not enjoy the rush of combat but it had certainly been engaging, thoroughly diverting and requiring his most advanced weapons be unleashed. That warranted a modicum of respect, in all his aeons only a rampaging Ork Waaagh has given him a more challenging fight. He still kept examples of all his conquests in his stasis-vaults, though his Cryptek had exhausted the supply of genic-gets with his experiments.

Abruptly Tamunn broke into his reverie saying, "Combat has begun."

Mathep realises his attention was straying and focused by saying, "Subdue resistance but remind our forces to take captives. This is a scouting raid, I want biological specimens and samples for later study."

"Yes Dread Lord," Tamunn replied, "Forces have engaged all over this ship and others, resistance is marginal."

The Phaeron turned and marched down the wide passageway, Chronostave held ready in case of surprises. Technically he could not die, his body boasted superior regenerative abilities to the common Necrons and in the unlikely event of his destruction distant neuro-wave receptors would retrieve his consciousness and download his mind to a new body. Still there was no point taking chances, every death and resurrection risked the loss of precious memories and personality engrams. Too many deaths and he could well become as mindless as the average Necron. A fate to be avoided at all costs.

As they walked he noted piles of offal steaming on the deck and his expectations of what lay ahead grew. Sure enough he soon spied a group of Flayed Ones lurking over fresh kills, bunched up in a junction as their talons dripped hot blood. Unlike Gauss weapons they did not disintegrate their victims but kept the bodies intact for skinning. Even as he looked on the Flayed Ones were peeling the skin off and pulling them over their forms like gory cloaks. Blood ran off ribs as they wrapped the tattered remains around shoulders and back-jointed legs, clawed hands tearing the flesh even as they pulled it about. One of them was even scooping up intestines and smearing them over its jaw, in a futile attempt to eat. It was utterly pointless and yet it persisted, unable to grasp that its mouth no longer opened.

Mathep was disgruntled with their feral behaviour, evidence that their minds had withered until only the urge to feed and feel the rush of blood endured. He moved forward to drive them away but before he could speak there was a savage roar of many voices and the sounds of charging feet. He twisted right and beheld a mob of primitives running towards him, weapons in hand and stupid anger writ over their snarling faces. They were taller than the usurpers laid out on the floor, broadly muscled and clad in ceramic armour of varying thickness. They waved swords and pistols and other weapons and made crude exhortations to their hollow god in an instinctive threat display. Mathep recognised these ones, the Genic-gets had come at last, seeking battle as their feral instincts demanded.

Tamunn interposed himself between his lord and the oncoming mob, using his great shield to bash away the first attacker and deflecting another blow with his axe. The rest piled in around him but Mathep was no helpless fop. The first knife that came at him was deflected by a broad sweep of his Chronostave, the next was knocked aside by an open-handed push and the third fell short as Mathep swept low and the sharp edges of his staff sliced the legs off the attacker.

More Genic-gets threw themselves at him but now the Flayed Ones finally responded. They left their grizzly trophies and rose to meet the attackers, drawn by the scent of living blood and the pounding of beating hearts. Claws met knives and bulky muscles were set against metal sinews as the two races joined battle. One side boasted proud colours and made roaring cries as they hacked and stabbed, the other wore dripping skins and fought in utter silence, terrifying in their quiet menace. The two races were well matched in strength and the Genic-gets had greater speed and dexterity but the Flayed Ones regenerated wounds with ease, only a direct killing strike forcing them to phase out and return to the crypts for repair.

Mathep gave the fight little notice for he was confronted by a pair of warrior-caste in thick orange armour. Like those who came in a previous epoch they were bulky and broad but unlike them these two carried snarling swords in their grips, fronted by spinning chainteeth. A detached part of the Phaeron's mind noted that the previous invaders had favoured dappled steel swords, skilfully folding metal upon itself to make a respectable blade. These were cruder but no less dangerous. Signs of some tribal distinctions among their primitive kind, he pondered, but that was a question for later.

"Ave Imperator!" They cried as they hurled themselves at him. They struck with all their speed but Mathep was no lowly warrior, his body was constructed to the finest tolerances and his velocity matched theirs. The first sword to come at him was knocked aside, the bearer following suit as a roundhouse blow sent it staggering. The other landed a blow on his shoulder, roaring chainteeth chewing away the bronze coverings over his Clavicles. It was a telling blow but Mathep barely swayed, his frame proof against such assaults and the wound sealing over in seconds as the living metal flowed together.

The brute froze in surprise and in that instant Mathep struck back. He actuated the entropy field around his Chronostave and plunged it into the chest of the savage. Finely tuned chronometric waves tore molecules apart, separating the bonds of matter with raw time. Riven by entropy the breastplate collapsed inward and the blades of his stave punched straight through the chest, ripping out both hearts. Mathep withdrew his blades and the brute collapsed, spilling blood from a gaping hole in its chest.

"No!" came a savage roar as the other swung for his back, trying to tear out his spine. It was a good blow but the primitive had made the mistake of aiming for his cloak. It must have thought the purple scales would offer no resistance but little did it know the material as was hard as the armour the usurpers clad their starships with and it proved utterly impregnable to such rude weapons. Chainteeth scattered far and wide as the weapon bounced off, not even scratching the imperishable material of his cloak. In return Mathep turned and almost lazily drove his metal digits into the barbarian's throat, slicing its larynx open with a sweep of his hand.

The brute fell to its knees, then collapsed forward with blood gushing down its front. Mathep left it to die unremarked, intending to engage the rest and end this fight, but suddenly a third savage emerged from nowhere. The first he knew was a howling roar of denial, then a snarling chainweapon crashed into his side. Not a sword this time but an axe, with a sharpened slice of metal on the reverse side.

Mathep retreated a step with a gaping wound cleaved into his side but the savage pursued. It moved fast, attacking over and over. All he could see were gaping turbines on the shoulders and a pair of orange pauldrons. The face was covered by an iron mask, engraved with serpentine icons making it look like one of Mathep's prized Ork specimens from his Stasis-vaults. The brute was relentless in its attack, smashing the axe into his chest again and again as it roared, "Stay Dead! Damn you stay dead!"

Mathep was offended by the simpleton's feral charge, the blows it inflicted an insult to the dignity of the Hyktot dynasty. It would not do for a noble Phaeron to be damaged by so rude a foe and Mathep was not willing to let it land another blow. As the next axe-swing fell his hand flashed upwards, catching the savage by the wrist stopping it dead in mid-air. Stillness fell as the pair stood locked together, then Mathep urged his living metal body to heal itself and the wounds slurped closed in a heartbeat. The brute's face purpled with strain as it tried to push down but Mathep held the arm firmly, not budging an inch. His strength proved superior and his patience was at an end.

Mathep lifted his Chronostave and swept the end for his foe's side, intending to slice him in two. The savage saw the blow coming and at the last instant reversed its push, desperately pulling away. The unexpected change meant the tip of the stave only caught a glancing blow, tearing deeply into ribs but missing the vital organs. Entropy ate the armour apart and blood ran in a torrent down its flank as the primitive roared in anger. Fired by fury the foe lurched forward, trying to head-butt the Phaeron but Mathep was done with this fight.

With contemptuous disdain he twisted and heaved hard, pulling the primitive's arm with irresistible strength. The brute was yanked off his feet and sent flying away, soaring head first over the raging melee until it hit a wall face first. The simpleton was bludgeoned insensate by the impact and slumped to the ground, momentarily helpless to rise again. Mathep knew this breed could not be stunned for long and hastily lowered his Chronostave, intending to unleash an entropic blast that would end the savage once and for all. The barbarian was already stirring; trying to rise and fight, but it was too slow and could not avoid a blast that would reduce it to atoms.

Mathep willed the stave to discharge but as he did so there was a cry and another threw itself at him. This one was smaller and lighter, armoured in half-plate and its head was covered by an all-encompassing helmet with a narrow T-slit for vision. It dove at him, snarling like a wild beast as it tried to sink a short knife into his spine. Mathep was surprised but not shocked, he did not feel such things and instantly pivoted, knocking the knife aside before it could touch him. His free hand knocked the primitive back and then he swung the tip of his stave across its head, shearing the helmet-free. What was revealed was surprising, most surprising.

Under the helmet was a face unlike the typical breed's. It was mottled like volcanic stone, cracked and raw where it was required to flex, the eyes were red and from the mouth hung elongated fangs, sticking out past the lower lip. Mathep has never seen this before in any species he had encountered and he was puzzled as to what this one was doing among the Genic-gets. Some form of subspecies, he wondered, a purpose-bred variant or a lower caste beast of burden. Either way it was worth investigating further.

The beast snarled as it readied the next blow, wanting to fight him but Mathep was faster. He threw a punch that staggered it and then sank a fist into its guts, cracking the ceramic armour and doubling it over. The beast wheezed as it collapsed to its knees but Mathep's metal grip locked around its throat and he heaved high, holding it aloft as it kicked futilely and clawed at his hand.

As it struggled impotently Mathep opened a subwave comm-line and called, "Ashtari, I have uncovered something new. A subspecies of the warrior-caste."

"I have encountered this too," The Cryptek sent from another ship, "Some divergent strain of genic-get. Dread Lord the possibilities are fascinating, I must have more!"

"Understood," Mathep replied then signalled, "All warriors of the Hyktot, these usurpers hide a new form of animal amongst them. Find them, capture them alive and bring them to me. Capture all the divergent animals!"

Mathep knew his orders would be obeyed by all his warriors and soon he would have his prize. Behind he detected the defeated primitive rising to its feet, intending to resume their duel but he had no need for such crude exchanges. To fight on would be prideful and vain and he no longer had such impulses, not when he already knew he was the superior combatant. So he signalled his ship to retrieve him and an instant later space folded around him and he vanished from the usurper's vessel with his captive in tow.


	95. Chapter 95

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 95**

Something was hunting them, Glord was sure of it. His party was being stalked by something they could not see but it was definitely there. He clutched his Fang tightly as he scoured the walls, trying to detect whatever was trailing them but there was nothing to be seen. Yet the feeling lingered, a cold sensation running down the back of his neck.

Glord was in a sorry state, covered in gashes and clotted blood. Thick crusts of Larraman Cells coated his arms, legs, neck and face. The rest of the squad looked hardly any better, each of them rent by a score of minor injuries. They had been fighting through the Peregrine for what seemed like hours, though in the compressed time of combat may only have been minutes. They had encountered wave after wave of Necrons, meeting them blade to blade each time and driving them back but each encounter cost them in blood. By all accounts they were doing well not to have lost a Brother but Glord had the nagging sense that the Necrons weren't really trying. They never sent more than ten at a time against the squad and the Astartes was starting to feel like this assault was nothing more than testing the defences. If the Necrons wanted to they could have filled this ship end to end with silver automatons.

Reddam held his spear in both hands and hissed, "Stay alert."

Glord was glad the Sergeant sensed it too and growled, "I can't see it, but it's there. I know it."

"Can't see nothin' you're jumping at shadows," that was Schwift who somehow was still alive. The weasley mortal seemed to have a knack for keeping out of the fighting, always conveniently absent when the blood was flowing. Glord didn't know what he was doing tagging along with them but then there was little he could do in a fight so he may as well hang back and hide.

Larus snapped, "You shut up, you're no good in a fight."

Schwift snorted, "You lads ain't paying me so I ain't gonna die for you."

"Coward!" Joffel spat in disgust.

But Reddam hissed, "Silence, there's something out there."

Glord scoured the environment, looking for danger. The squad had made their way aft and were now in amongst the towering plasma converters and thermal regulators that comprised the main drives. The Blockade runner was half engine and the ice-encrusted devices soared ten stories high, connected by countless pipes and cables that drooped low. Gridded walkways ran around the circumference of blocks of machinery and drifting servo-skulls continued their endless circling, squawking binaric praises to the Machine Spirits on a loop. The entire place crackled with power, mighty energies bound and harnessed to the service of mankind but only barely. It felt like one misplaced shot would detonate the whole place, blowing the entire ship to atoms.

Glord clutched his Fang and longed for his Heavy Bolter as he scoured shadows under walkways and confined areas between towering devices. A bead of sweat ran down the back of his neck but his eye was steady as he searched for his quarry. Then he saw it. Standing between two heavy pipes was a lurking shadow, too still and gaunt to be anything other than a Necron. It had a single eye that glowed greenly and a long rifle in its hands that oozed menace. There was something off about it, a sense that the darkness around it was more than a shadow. A gloomy aura clung to its form, obscuring its presence and making it hard to see clearly, like it was half in realspace and half in some other unknown dimension.

"There!" Glord shouted as he leapt into a run.

"Kill it!" Joffel roared as the Necron began to bring its gun to bear.

Glord pushed himself to the limit, seeking to close before it could shoot. The pipes surrounded the squad as they rushed headlong at the foe, passing between the thick metal conduits into the narrow space. Ten steps remained and Glord saw the Necron bringing the weapon to point at Reddam's head. Some form of strange green light shimmered in the exposed capacitors and chambers of the rifle, preparing to end the Sergeant's life in one shot. Glord knew whatever it did the rifle would prove supremely lethal, yet the Necron's movements were slow and the Space Marines moved with Transhuman swiftness. He realised they would reach it before it had acquired a target. And that was when two more Necrons phased through the walls.

Glord gasped as silver heads and shoulders emerged from solid metal, grasping talons reaching out for them. Their faces were blank and unmoving, merciless in their disdain and their legs were absent, replaced by a long segmented tail like an elongated spinal cord. They shimmered like water as they phased through matter, then suddenly hardened into solidity as their razor talons lashed out.

Kazao ducked with Transhuman speed, dodging the strike of one but Tebes moved too slow and a pair of claws sheared through his shoulder, spraying blood far and wide. Glord felt splatters hitting his face but he wasted not a moment to stab for the nearest Necron. Yet the undying fiend was already shimmering and Glord was astonished to see his hand pass straight through the foe. He nearly overbalanced as his momentum pulled him into a stagger and the Necron dove back into the pipe, disappearing completely.

"How did they do that?!" Joffel yelled.

Schwift's head was darting back and forth as he cried, "They're like some form of wraith!"

Reddam was facing down the narrow space as he snarled, "Where's the first one gone?!"

It was true, the shadowy assassin had vanished, leaving the squad boxed in. Glord realised they were trapped, the pipes were too confining and the squad had no room to manoeuvre. The Wraiths could come from anywhere and they would not be seen until it was too late. He shouted, "We're boxed in here!"

Reddam concurred, "Withdraw into the open and someone carry Tebes."

The squad retreated and Glord stooped to grab the groaning Astartes under his good arm. Glord heaved him up and practically carried his Brother along. Tebes was hurt badly, blood gushing from a vicious rent in his shoulder and his grip on his pick was limp. His genhanced organs were already working to knit him back together but that would take precious minutes, for the time being Tebes was out of this fight.

Glord snapped, "Could we not go one single, bloody mission without you getting injured?!"

"Uuuuuuurgh," was all Tebes managed to murmur as they stumbled along.

Suddenly the pipes before them shimmered and a Wraith reappeared. Joffel leapt at them, bonesword swinging but it passed through the first without slowing, the Wraith insubstantial as a dream. It ghosted past him and then suddenly hardened into reality and struck Larus with a lashing blow to the gut. Then it shimmered back into intangibility and dove into the floor.

Larus snarled in agony as his hands went to a vicious gash in his belly armour, intestines disturbingly visible in the rent. Even for an Astartes that was a debilitating wound, forget healing implants he would need an Apothecarion to make good his injuries. The squad was two marines down and they hadn't touched the enemy, the Necrons were picking them off one by one.

Reddam grabbed Larus and forced him to stumble along as he yelled, "Get clear, get into the open!"

Glord raced forward shouting, "Where are they?!"

They emerged into a clear spot and moved a dozen steps from the walls. Here they dumped Larus and Tebes on the floor and formed a circle, weapons pointed outwards and watching the walls for the first sign of movement. Glord felt the aura of tension building, a lurking sense of anticipation firing his physiology to the extreme. A mortal would have called this fear but to an Astartes it was merely motivation, sharpening their reflexes and firing their muscles to the most extreme edge of possibility.

Suddenly the wall shimmered and the two wraiths appeared, floating towards them with their talons sheathed in blood. Schwift put a lasbolt into one but it passed through without harm, singeing the wall beyond and leaving the wraith unharmed. Glord tensed to attack but Reddam shouted, "No wait! hold… hold… now!"

The Sergeant had timed it to perfection, while phased the wraiths were invulnerable but impotent. In order to strike they had to enter reality, becoming tangible for a split second and in that single moment they were vulnerable. Just as they hardened into being the Astartes struck, Glord's knife stabbing into a chest while Joffel's bonesword struck the neck and cleaved through. Meanwhile Kazao's fist clanged off a shoulder but Reddam's spear smashed through a head, bursting out of the back of the metal skull.

The Wraiths froze in midair, utterly still for a moment. Then they shimmered like disturbed water and vanished, phasing out for good. Glord sagged as he saw the Necrons disappear and knew they had bought a reprieve but their respite was short-lived.

A sudden scream split the air and all heads turned to see a gaggle of chattels beset by a monstrous foe, one completely unlike the Necrons they had seen so far. It was taller than average and moved far faster, as fast as an Astartes. It had a single eye set in its forehead and shimmering cloaks of blackness flowed around it. Four arms struck out at the crowd of fleeing chattels, one of them swinging a whip that glowed bluely and left streaks of light in the air. Glord saw one of the chattels struck by that whip and the man broke up, split head to groin by a perfect incision that left two parts standing for a moment until they fell in opposite directions, revealing internal organs like an anatomical drawing.

"Kazao, grenade it!" Reddam shouted.

"But the chattels," Kazao protested.

"They're dead already," Reddam snarled, "Shoot it!"

Glord froze as Kazao obeyed, levelling his weapon and firing a fat round with a noise of 'phoot'. The grenade spun through the air, closing on the melee in a graceful arc, then it detonated. Furnace hot shrapnel blew outwards, scything into human flesh and undying metal. The Chattels died in the explosion, killed by their own masters and the Necron stumbled, its frame penetrated by many shards of burning debris.

"Finish it!" Reddam yelled as he leapt into a charge.

The Necron however saw them coming, its wounds closed in a heartbeat then it drew itself up and cried, "Yes come to me, let Ashtari see what you are made of!"

It could speak, Glord realised in shock, this one could speak. The knowledge that they were facing the most dangerous kind of enemy ran through him but he did not let that slow his run, nor the speed of his knife. He tackled the Necron around the waist and buried his dagger in its spine. Meanwhile Joffel sliced his bonesword across its chest, leaving a deep furrow. Kazao reversed his grip on his grenade launcher and smashed the handle against a metal skull while Reddam buried his spear into a hip, the crackling tip penetrating deeply.

The Necron was beset on all sides, yet it did not fall. It merely made a clicking noise and suddenly its cloak exploded outwards, engulfing them in darkness. Glord felt a million stinging bites rip at him, eating him alive. They were automatons, he realised, the cloak had been made up of billions of microscopic robots and now they covered him head to toe. The pain was indescribable, he was being eaten alive, tiny mandibles ripping the skin from his bones with countless snapping bites.

If he stayed here he would die so he did the only thing he could. He threw himself backwards, out of the swirling cloud and hit the ground hard. He desperately rolled over and over, crushing robots under his weight with each turn, desperately trying to kill them before they ate him alive. His desperate move saved his life but he was left groaning and bleeding on the floor, wracked with agony and too weak to stand.

He beat at his own flesh, crushing those robots his roll had missed then looked up with bleeding eyes and saw what had become of his squadmates. Reddam and Joffel had replicated his move and lay groaning upon the floor, but Kazao had not escaped. The Aberrant Brother was being held aloft by the Necron, one metal hand clamped about his throat and another ripping away the material of his scout-armour over his arm. Thick cloth fell away to reveal his scaled flesh and the Necron paused. One of its four hands rose and clamped about his Stormtrooper helmet then cracked it open like a man would a nut. Shattered pieces fell away, revealing scaly flesh, fangs and burning red eyes. Kazao beat at the arm holding him aloft and kicked at the air but the Necron was unmoved and hissed, "Fascinating."

"Kazao!" Reddam cried as he tried to stand up.

Yet the Necron didn't deign to look at them as it stated, "We're done here. Slave, disable them."

Confusion rang through Glord but then he spied the silhouette of Schwift looming over them. The man was grinning at the sight of the Astartes on the floor and his laspistols were held ready. Shocking revelations ran through Glord but before he could open his mouth to yell an alert Schwift fired, putting a lasbolt into his thigh.

Again and again Schwift fired, crippling Reddam, Joffel and Glord then he chuckled, "Sorry lads, boss don't want you dead... yet. Still, can't have you following us."

Glord's legs burned with las-fire injuries and he yelled in disbelief, "Traitor!"

But Schwift merely chuckled, "Can't be a Traitor if I was never loyal to you. Me and the skeletons have a prior arrangement, they have me steer schmucks like you into the Carnodon's den and in return I get something more precious than Adamantium or jewels."

The Necron interrupted his boasting to bark, "Cease your prattle. We are leaving."

Schwift skipped away and placed a hand on the Necron as he cackled, "Bye lads, you were the sweetest marks I've seen in a long time."

Then the trio shimmered like water as space folded around them. The Traitor, the Necron and Kazao vanished, disappearing without a trace. Glord watched in disbelief as the scene emptied, leaving behind groaning and bleeding Astartes on the floor. He felt his body burning head to toe, agony clawing at his nerve endings like he was on fire. Yet despite it all, the worst pain was the knowledge that his Brother had been snatched away and was the prisoner of the Necrons. Filled with anguish Glord could only gasp, "Kazao… no."


	96. Chapter 96

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 96**

The gateway to the Enginarium was under heavy assault. Ranks of Necrons advanced with relentless determination, marching in perfectly ordered rows, pressing into the teeth of heavy resistance. Overhead turrets spat autorounds and las-bolts into their ranks and flanking pillboxes blazed with stubber fire. It made little impression, any wounds sealed over in seconds and the Necrons still advanced.

Coluber saw the next wave coming and knew they would be hard-pressed to deny it. In his hand Venom shined, the relic's power field sparking as it cleaved the head off a Necron. The undying fiends were proving hard to kill, shrugging off chainsword blows and bolt-rounds but power weapons made a lasting impression. Coluber had struck down a dozen foes with swift blows, only to watch the fallen vanish as they phased out. At his side Brother-Exemplars Vardat and Seyda fought on, their burst-lances equally effective. A good job too for the trio were the only things holding the line together.

Along the flanks two squads of Primus fought on, bringing their fury to bear. Their weapons were proving ineffective against Necrons but they did not falter. They were brave and bold and defiant, valiant as an Astartes should be, yet that wasn't stopping them dying. Three Amber Vipers were down already, bleeding out from the vicious rents of silver talons or missing the centre of their chests where Gauss blasts had bored through them. Those still standing were troubled by scores of wounds but they refused to despair, determined to die on their feet.

Coluber was proud of their defiance, proud to be leading the best of his Chapter into battle, but he knew the tide was turning against them. The Necrons were making a concerted push and the defence wouldn't withstand another wave. Even as he watched another mass of silver warriors came down the approach, marching through incoming fire like it was nothing. Sergeant Curft, one of the finest of the first generation, lifted a Chainsword and proclaimed, "Hold Brothers, in the name of the…" His cry was cut short as a crackling aura surrounded his head, unknown energies playing around his skull. He collapsed to the floor, leaking neural tissue out of his helm's respirator as high above a one-eyed sniper wrapped itself in shadows and vanished.

Shrios leapt to the fallen Sergeant, to harvest the gene-seed as he shouted, "We can't hold!"

"We stand to the last Brother!" Coluber bellowed, "Cold hearts and fast blades!"

"Cold hearts and fast blades!" the Amber Vipers roared as the Necrons closed.

On the undying foe came, green weapons lifting in readiness to cut down the defiant Astartes. Coluber singled out a warrior, indistinguishable from the rest and swore to himself that he would claim this one's skull before the end. He braced himself to leap at the foe, even as it raised its rifle but then another force intervened.

From behind the Necrons came a crackling red sphere of energy, ploughing into the backs of the enemy. Unlike conventional weaponry it tore deeply into silver bodies, punching through living metal with ease and the wounds left were far slower to heal. Another blast smote the undying's rear and another and another, each shot downing a silver warrior and the clicking of rad-counters in helms proclaimed who it was who had intervened. Coluber's jaw fell as he beheld the Cerberii marching to war, Fission-blasters spitting radiation-soaked death.

At the head strode Kregulf, the silver knife at his belt gleaming. At his sides came Paneyr and Berio, bulky weapons glowing evilly as they disgorged blast after blast. Behind them marched the three Cadmus-robots, weapon arms raised to blitz the foe with sweeps of energised destruction. The Necrons reeled at being caught in a pincer but they did not panic, with clinical disdain they turned to reengage the unexpected charge.

Coluber saw opportunity unfolding and leapt into fray shouting, "Charge!" His Brothers were with him and Venom blazed as he sliced a metal spine open. Knives flashed, Burst-lances thrust, bolt pistols fired into skulls and Fission-blasts smote the enemy in a deadly torrent. Necrons fell like wheat before the scythe, unable to repulse an attack from two directions and it seemed someone decided to cut their losses.

One second Coluber was slicing the arm off a foe, the next it shimmered and vanished, leaving him confronting empty air. All the other Necrons wavered too, then they were gone, leaving the area clear of foes. Brothers milled about in confusion, looking for their suddenly absent enemy and the vox squawked in his ear, telling him the same was happening all over the flotilla. The Necrons simply stopped whatever they were doing and disappeared, abandoning the fight and leaving the Amber Vipers to count their dead.

Coluber was left dumbfounded and the Amber Vipers looked about in surprise, confounded as to where their enemy had vanished to. The entrance to the Enginarium stood inviolate, they had defended the approach but all they had to show for their valour were piles of dead Chattels and the harrowing sight of Brothers laid out cold and unmoving. Only the Cadmus robots seemed unperturbed, lowering their arms slowly as their eye lenses refocused.

Shrios looked up from a dead body, his Narthecium heavy with Gene-seed, as he asked, "Where did they go?"

"The better question is: why did they depart?" Coluber hissed.

Kregulf approached them, steaming Fission-blaster in hand as he called, "They may be regrouping. We should expect another wave to hit us."

Coluber gave him no thanks for his intervention, the Cerberii were disgraced and deserved no honours, but enquired, "Your charges are secure?"

Kregulf merely confirmed, "The Gates of Perdition remain sealed. Fission-Blasters proved most effective against this foe, Though the compartment will require extensive decontamination before any mortal can enter. I left half my order to hold the gates and advanced to secure the ship."

Coluber removed his helm and breathed air laden with acrid smoke and cooling blood as he ordered, "We must return to the bridge and find out what has happened. Shrios, you have the Gene-seed secured? Good, then come, Kregulf you too."

Kregulf turned to his comrades and ordered, "Paneyr, Berio hold this position with the Cadmus robots and send for decontamination teams from the Enginarium to cleanse this area."

With that Coluber turned and strode away, his entourage in tow. Vardat and Seyda were at his flanks and Shrios and Kregulf behind. Swiftly they departed and made their way up the decks, passing many scenes of battle. Everywhere he saw piles of dead Chattels, mixed with the occasional form of an Amber Viper. Warriors of Primus, Secundus and the youths of Tertius, cut down in their prime. The damage to the ship was extensive yet of the Necrons there was no sign, not a single body remained to be seen. Was it an attempt to avoid having their technology studied or a cultural aversion to letting others touch their dead, Coluber didn't know. Were they even dead or were they even now being repaired in some distant foundry, another riddle he had no answers for. All he knew was that had the Necrons wished it they could have obliterated the Amber Vipers, which begged the question why they hadn't.

Filled with questions Coluber strode onto the bridge, finding gaggles of Chattels labouring over glowing consoles. One glance told him the Motive Force had returned to the ship and he leapt onto his Dais calling, "Report!"

Nathanal looked up from a disassembled surveyor station, soldering rod in hand as he called, "Power has returned, we have Auspex and comms, guns and engines should be back in a few minutes."

"Show me local space," Coluber commanded.

The Hololith fizzed into life, blurred and ill-focused as the Cogitators struggled to awaken. In the display were the tiny icons of the Flotilla and the vast curvature of the Tombship's prow, bracketing the Amber Vipers front and back. It was instantly clear that the Necrons had them in the palm of their metal hands, able to blow the helpless humans to atoms with a single volley. Coluber could do nothing to stop them and as he watched the ship stirred to life. Slowly it elevated its positon, climbing vertically above the humans like a cloud rising over a mountain. Its vast belly was exposed, revealing black stone threaded with gold veins and the surveyors spat nonsense as they struggled to get any reading as to what purpose those served.

Coluber watched the ship rising and wondered what their intent was but it was revealed a moment later. With stunning acceleration the Tombship leapt away, going from a relative halt to near lightspeed in three seconds. A move that would have crushed any imperial ship into a tiny ball, executed without a quiver of distress. The surveyors tracked its departure before it sailed out of range, heading towards the Dyson Sphere.

"They're gone," Coluber breathed in disbelief.

Shrios gasped, "But They had us stone dead."

Kregulf mused, "Perhaps they were testing our defences, seeing what we are capable of."

Shrios spat, "Why bother, they could have finished us at any time."

Coluber agreed, "Something else was going on. They were executing some strategy, one that we are failing to see."

But suddenly another voice arose, "They wanted captives!"

All heads turned to behold Battle-Captain Ferrac striding in. The Astartes looked in a sorry state, his armour torn by deep wounds and his Axe-rake missing many of its teeth. His face was even worse, the parts not covered by his iron mask bruised purple like he had flown face-first into a wall. He seemed battered head to toe, yet his anger was no less. If anything he seemed even more irritable then usual.

Shrios snorted, "You look like you had a fight with a threshing machine and lost."

Coluber overrode him, "Captives? Explain."

Ferrac answered, "I got into a fight with some form of leadership Necron, a lord of their kind. It was taking us apart but it wasn't us it was interested in. It wanted Brother Marko, it grabbed him and teleported away."

Memory stirred and Coluber said, "Marko… wait he's an Aberrant. Why would it want one aberrant… unless it didn't. Quickly, vox all squads and have them report any missing Brothers, especially one with Aberrants in their ranks."

Shrios stepped nearer and said, "You think they wanted our Aberrants, but that makes no sense. What purpose could that serve, how did they even know about them?"

Coluber sighed, "I have no answers for you, only questions. This Strategy makes no sense."

Suddenly Nathanal interjected, "Perhaps you're looking at it wrong. Maybe this wasn't warfare at all."

Coluber's head swivelled to stare at the mortal and he snapped, "Explain!"

Nathanal shrugged, "You're assuming the Necrons think like you do, like warriors and strategists but that's not what I've seen. Perhaps this was more like a Magos' expedition, a survey of interesting flora and fauna, capturing unusual specimens for further examination back in the Laboritorum. This may have been nothing to them save a chance to retrieve new samples to study."

"I don't like that kind of thinking," Coluber growled.

"Then you really won't like this," Ferrac spoke, "Reports are coming in, the Aberrants are gone. All of them were captured and taken away. There's worse news though, Reddam signals he lost a Brother and our guide. Schwift went with the Necrons, willingly. He claims the man boasted of luring us into a trap!"

"That Traitor!" Coluber roared as his hands gripped the railing so tight it buckled, "I'll kill him for this!"

"I knew we shouldn't have trusted him," Shrios growled, "I'm going to extract his vital organs one by one and make him watch as I do it!"

"Get in line," Ferrac snarled, "I claim the right to chop off his head."

Coluber's anger was great but it was Kregulf who spoke up, "So… what do we do next?"

Ferrac snarled, "Light the drives, take us after them and punish the Xenos for their arrogance!"

Yet Shrios countered, "Chase them?! Madness, we barely survived one encounter and you'd go looking for another."

Ferrac turned on him and barked, "We are Astartes, we do not abide insults or wait for the enemy to steal the initiative. We should attack with our full force and put the enemy on the defensive."

But Shrios snapped, "Maybe you missed the part where we got our noses ripped off. If we go provoking the Necrons they will blow us out of the stars."

"Retreat?" Ferrac sneered.

"Yes," Shrios stated flatly, "That is the only sane move. We cut our losses and withdraw to the Warp-gate, while we still can."

"Coward," Ferrac snarled as he lifted his axe-rake, "You would abandon our Brothers to the Necrons?!"

Coluber saw his Battle-Captain's anger was frothing over, edging into violence and he barked, "Cease!"

Both Brothers froze as Ferrac spluttered, "But…"

"Do not question my orders," Coluber hissed, "I hear your words and you are both right. We cannot launch a full attack without knowing what lies ahead. We are in the enemies' home ground and they hold all the advantages. But I am not willing to let this pass without redress nor shall I leave our kin in the hands of the enemy. We are nothing without our loyalty to each other. Therefore I shall send a scouting party, one ship to probe the Dyson Sphere and learn our enemy's disposition. If they have any chance to retrieve our lost kin they shall do so, but their primary mission is to gather intelligence."

Shrios dared to say, "But that leaves the Chapter exposed, we should at least withdraw the factorum ships with our gene-seed stocks."

But Coluber sighed, "Do you seriously believe the Necrons will let anyone leave? If they aren't watching the gates then I am a Grot. No, we shall remain here while our scout probes the defences. Send Reddam, the Peregrine is our fastest ship and small enough to avoid provoking a response, it has the best chance of sneaking in unnoticed."

Heads bowed but surprisingly Kregulf added, "They shall require need aid, I shall send Brother Berio and a Cadmus-robot along in Doombringer. Our unconventional weapons proved most effective against the Necrons."

"As you will," Coluber allowed, "This is my order."

Nobody seemed happy but the order was given and they could not argue. Yet Nathanal asked, "And while they scout ahead, I guess we just sit here and piece our fleet back together."

"Not quite," Coluber corrected, "We need better defences and weapons, plus we still have a mission to complete. While Reddam scouts ahead we shall board the Serpens Rex and see if anything can be salvaged. With the Emperor's blessing it may be repairable, without… it will still be a good place to make a last stand. Now get moving, I want to be ready before the Necrons come back again!"


	97. Chapter 97

**Tales of the Amber Vipers 97**

Mathep looked over his city and knew all was in order. His chariot floated over the silent buildings and empty boulevards, giving him a god's eye view. The Pyramids were flawless mounds of black stone, obelisks rose proudly and mausoleums lay in perfect alignment. The air was still and calm, undisturbed by wind or rain or snow. The sky overhead was an exact recreation of a planetary sky, revealing no hint of the raging stellar furnace that lay beyond. The city was untroubled by the vagaries of the universe or time, exactly as it had laid for sixty million years.

This was only one small corner of the Dyson sphere, its internal volumes several times the surface area of the average planet, but it was the nexus of his Dynasty's dominions. Far below him legions of Necron troops lay awaiting his command, countless metal bodies standing perfectly still in their tombs. Long ago this city had bustled with activity, living beings going about their daily labours and little lives. The Necrontyr had been an industrious species, inventive and creative, but condemned to eternal sorrow. Their homeworld had bathed in the radiation of a hateful star, dooming them to short lives of pain and disease. Yet while they lived they had wrought marvels.

Mathep looked over the silent city and lamented, "Once these streets teemed with life."

At his side Inotep stated flatly, "The city is as it has always been, perfectly preserved for all time."

"But for what purpose?" Mathep countered, "The city, the empire, the whole galaxy awaits our return. Yet until we live once more we cannot reclaim that which is ours. So long as we remain metal we are limited, bound to a soulless existence. I remember what it was to live and I say we must return to flesh, we must live again."

There was the slightest shift in position from the Lychguard and Mathep turned to his bodyguard and asked, "You disagree?"

Tamunn was the Phaeron's most trusted servant, free to speak his mind though he rarely did, but this once he stated, "I too remember life, I remember pain and sorrow and disease. I remember cities built not for the living but the dead, tombs and mausoleums and monuments to ancient glories in an endless parade."

Inotep turned on him and hissed, "You besmirch the glory of the past!"

But Mathep raised a hand and said, "No, my Lychguard is correct. I have no intention of repeating the agony of the past. It is pointless to return to flesh if we shall only start dying again. That is why we cannot simply clone our old bodies, they would still be wracked with diseases. We must have better bodies, flawless flesh, immortal and free of pain."

Inotep mourned, "Our science was unsurpassed, we were the lords of creation. Space and matter, energy and entropy were ours to command. We overturned suns with a mere whim. Yet for all that we could never master ourselves. Our genic codes were made only to die, no science could change that. Billions of attempts to undo our misery failed, every promise of relief came to the same futile end."

Mathep snarled, "I remember it well, generations living in agony, passing on their cursed genes to the next. And all the while our ancient enemy denied us salvation, hiding the secrets of immortality from us. Then came the deceivers, the C'tan who tricked us with false promises and hollow dreams. I should never have listened to them."

Tamunn's head tilted fractionally as he asked, "You admit to making a mistake?"

Mathep replied, "To deny an error occurred is an act of pride, it would be vanity to think oneself incapable of miscalculation. I was the last Phaeron to accept biotransference, the Hyktot held out long after all others had been converted. I knew the price was too high and I saw the lies of the Silent King and the Star Gods. But my will faltered and I gave in to desperation, seeking to save my family. It was a mistake, I can admit that. I should have seen the trap for what it was. Still, it is not too late to correct that error. We shall return to the flesh but until then we shall preserve all that the Necrontyr were."

Their conveyance had reached its destination and it descended into a yawning pit. Blackstone walls rose up around them, as they sank into the structure of the Dyson Sphere. The city disappeared, to be replaced by devices of ancient providence and arcane power. Mathep beheld energy transfer conduits and quantum entanglement generators, channelling power from solar collectors even further down. These were bound to similar devices on Tombworlds across the satellite galaxy, sending energy across thousands of lightyears via Micro-wormholes. This one Dyson Sphere could power his entire kingdom, eliminating the need for the captured C'tan shards other Phaerons relied upon. Fools and fossils, he judged them, decaying minds reliant on others for power. They had trusted the C'tan once and paid the price, they were blind if they thought they could trust them again, even in imprisonment.

Further down they passed Canoptek Spyders tending to power nodes and energy nexi, maintaining the systems that sustained the Dyson Sphere. He spied a Deathmark sniper lurking in the shadows, Synaptic Disintegrator clutched to its chest as it practised stalking as ancient neuro-engrams demanded, re-enacting routines it had once performed in life. Silver trains shuttled to and fro, riding rails made of photon streams, carrying raw materials and packed scarab-drones to distant parts of the facility. One of them plunged into a glowing green portal and disappeared, teleporting many thousands of kilometres away in an instant. Technology that would have made usurper races weep in envy utterly unremarkable to the Necrons.

At last the chariot reached a deep level, where shimmering stasis fields were laid out in orderly rows. Here they stopped descending and started moving horizontally, skimming over the square boxes of blue light. Within their confines were stacked rows of prisoners, millions of them stretching out as far as the eye could see, many of them still in their vehicles. Vermin from races across the galaxy, captured and preserved for study. Mathep was satisfied by the fruits of his labours, these creatures provided a base stock for his Cryptek's experiments, genic codes waiting to be harvested to create a perfect host body for the Necrons to transfer to.

"Another productive raid," Mathep stated, "We shall soon see what Ashtari has produced this time."

Tamunn lifted his chin and sneered, "I understand he brought back one of his spies."

"You disapprove?" Mathep queried.

"It is beneath the dignity of our race to rely on such filth," Tamunn proclaimed.

Yet Mathep countered, "It is a matter of efficiency. Our harvests would be slow and infrequent if we had to scour the galaxy world by world. Such tools allow us to find worlds and convoys wherever they roam. They even bring specimens straight to our doorstep. It is far more efficient to have the usurpers come to us, than chase them across the stars."

Tamunn scorned, "They turn on their own kind once, how do we know they won't do so again?"

Yet Inotep argued, "It is traditional. Treachery and betrayal were time-honoured customs among the Necrontyr. The Hyktot Dynasty rose to dominance only thanks to a traitor in the ranks of the Kyerer Dynasty."

Silence fell as they descended to a small black pyramid, squatting among the rows of stasis-vaults like an island rising out of an ocean. The chariot stopped and Mathep alighted, striding within swiftly with his followers. He passed through a tunnel of black stone, lit from within by strange green sparks that ran through the stone. Soon he emerged into a high-vaulted chamber, filled with strange machines. Quantum-cogitators lined the black walls and alchemical cauldrons bubbled in corners while bioform manipulators stood proud of the floor. Fractal surgical tools were laid out on elegant slabs and hovering Scarabs floated over tissue samples, examining them at a subatomic level as they sketched genic codes into the air with columns of glowing green light. And the walls bore upright sarcophagi, filled with test subjects waiting to be vivisected.

In the centre of the room was an organic being, laid out on a slab of black stone. It had been sliced open to reveal internal organs and blood ran down the slab, being swallowed by microscopic scarabs covering the floor. Mathep noted it was one of the unusual specimens he had captured on his raid, obviously still alive when it had been ripped open. Hunched over the subject Ashtari examined the creature's innards, consumed by his work as his four hands extracted organs and placed them in glowing genic readers. In a corner lurked the spy Schwift, seemingly uncomfortable with the sight but unable to leave without permission.

Mathep gave it no mind as he proclaimed, "Cryptek, we have come."

Ashtari's head came up and his one eye refocussed as he declared, "Dread Lord, I have the most fascinating news!"

Mathep approached and questioned, "These ones have revealed their secrets?"

Ashtari quickly elaborated, "I have only examined one so far but the results are intriguing. I first thought this was some sub-species of the genic-gets but my study reveals surprising truths. These are not a separate order of being but offshoots of the main genus. A divergent strain, unlooked for and unintended."

Inotep sniffed, "Why does that matter?"

Ashtari explained, "I spoke of the first iteration of genic-gets, how their secrets were hidden from me. There was something in them that defied categorisation, something of the Warp. These ones have it in even greater quantities, a river of change where the others had a trickle. The physical alterations are symptoms of something greater, something I have never seen before."

"You understand it?" Mathep asked.

"Almost," Ashtari stated, "It is almost within my grasp, I am on the verge of quantifying it. I need more though, many more. I predict this is the missing element in my design, the one thing I am lacking to make a perfect, immortal host body."

Mathep turned on the spy and snarled, "You! Why did you not bring us this before?!"

Schwift started in shock and spluttered, "Wha? You never said you wanted mutants."

"Mut-ants?" Mathep hissed turning over the unfamiliar word, "What are Mut-ants?"

Schwift shrugged, "Mutants, you know. Twists, the warp-touched, aberrants and malforms. Those born wrong. Every Imperial world has them."

"They are common?" Ashtari pressed.

Schwift stuck his hands in his pockets and sniffed, "Common as muck. I mean, I've never heard of Astartes having them but human worlds are rife with the buggers. Can't kill them off quickly enough and there's always more breeding."

"You hid this from us," Mathep hissed, "You held out on our bargain!"

He lowered his Chronostave and unleashed a blast of low-level entropy. Schwift screamed as he fell to his knees, skin withering and ragged hair falling out. His eyes greyed over and his bones creaked as he pleaded, "No please… I didn't. You said you wanted good subjects, the best of the best. I gave you convoys, armies, colonies. I led you to world after world but you never said you wanted mutants, can't blame me for that!"

The vermin resembled a living skeleton now and a few more seconds would see him collapse into dust. Yet Ashtari intervened, "I must have more subjects, more mut-ants. I need him to lead us to more of these creatures."

Mathep snapped off his Chronostave and growled, "You will lead us to more worlds with these mut-ants."

The living cadaver nodded pathetically from the floor and whispered, "Course… I will… but I need more time… more years… like we agreed…"

Mathep held himself aloft for a moment, then deigned to lower his stave once more. Chronometric energies played around the tip but of a different order. Waves of inverse time swept over Schwift, drawing entropy from his cells and undoing the ravages of age. His eyes cleared and his bones strengthened as muscle was added to his frame. His skin became smoother and spots disappeared, shrinking in seconds. Hair grew on his head, becoming thick and speckled with black threads. His fingers turned from skeletal claws into firm, strong hands that were steady in their grip. In moments Schwift the old man was gone, replaced by a middle-aged being with decades of life left in him.

Schwift laughed as his youth was restored and he climbed to his feet in joy. Mathep ceased his twisting of time as he reflected how deluded the vermin was. Chronometric manipulation had been a tool of the Necrontyr, another attempt to grasp immortality, another failure. The laws of entropy could be bent but not broken; the universe was not so kind or forgiving. Years could be added to a life but the science always produced diminishing returns, each cycle bringing fewer years than the last. The first time Schwift had been returned to a young boy, now he could only reach middle-age. Worse the technology could not undo disease, bringing no relief from the Necrontyr's agony. The living race had abandoned the experiment as a failure but usurper races naturally enjoyed more years than the Necrontyr had and the science benefitted them in a way it never did for its makers. It had proved an irresistible lure for Schwift and those like him.

Mathep turned from the spy and addressed his Cryptek, "You can complete your labours with more subjects?"

Ashtari replied, "I am so close to making a perfect host and I long ago mastered the art of biotransferance. I will require more mut-ants. Millions more, billions even."

"Then I shall bring you more," Mathep declared, "Continue your labours, I shall summon my vassal overlords and send forth my full might."

Inotep stepped closer and whispered, "Dread Lord is that wise? The overlords are treacherous and untrustworthy. They seek to claim your position."

"They are no threat to me," Mathep declared, "They shall obey my will."

Yet Tamunn argued, "A galaxy is a vast place and our armies are not limitless. Mighty battles shall rage if we pursue this course."

Mathep nodded in acceptance but turned to Ashtari and asked, "Do you require your subjects to be alive?"

Ashtari replied, "No, so long as their genic codes are intact I can find what I need."

Mathep drew himself up and declared, "Then I shall unleash my greatest weapons. First the Usurper fleet lurking on my doorstep, then out into the galaxy itself. Open the deepest vaults and bring forth my greatest weapon: let all races fear the power of the Synaptic Annihilator!"


	98. Chapter 98

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 98**

The Serpens Rex was quiet and still, undisturbed for millennia she sat amid a court of derelict hulks like a queen of ashes. The smashed wreckage of the outer piers was untroubled by busy dock workers and her reactors ticked over on mindless repetition, aching for the blessing of an Enginseer. The Forges were cold, the Apothecarions empty and the defence towers unmanned. Here and there pockets of air lurked, trapped in the few intact compartments, but largely the nest of the original Amber Vipers was an empty ruin.

Yet in the single tower left standing at her centre there was movement. Teams of Astartes and Chattels penetrating the darkness with stablights, vac-suits on and power armour sealed. Currently Coluber was facing a pair of heavy doors, sealed and locked against entry. Around that hatch Nathanal directed Enginseers to attach power cables and crypto-savants to beseech the doors to open. With them was a line of Servitors, carrying everything they would need to awaken the Machine Spirits and bring the cogitators online. Behind him Ferrac lurked with Anaxar Squad, while the Brother-Exemplars stood ready for trouble. They had inserted via the Thunderhawk Viper's Bite a few levels down and then made their way to the primary bridge. Shrios has taken Poisoned Fang and steered for the Main Apothecarion, seeking the Gene-seed vaults and the priceless treasure within. Other squads of Primus, Secundus and Tertius were scouting the outer quadrants. A sizeable force to recon the base but this Starfort was truly gigantic and much of it was inaccessible, properly scouting its secrets could take months, years even.

Impatiently Ferrac muttered over the vox, "How long is this going to take?"

Coluber replied calmly, "It will take as long as it takes."

Ferrac's hand brushed a melta bomb on his hip as he said, "I could just…"

Coluber's helm turned as he inquired, "Are you proposing to blow the doors off my new bridge?"

Ferrac snorted, "It would be quicker."

Coluber sighed, "Unto all things there is a given season. The moment something arrives, that is the proper time."

Ferrac sniffed dismissively, "Another line from your book?"

"The teachings of Maru Kysoto hold profound wisdom, we could learn much from him."

Ferrac snorted, "He's dead, we're alive. Let's focus on staying that way."

Suddenly there was a great clunk from the doors and the slabs of metal drew back an inch, retracting on runnels into the wall. A splurt of air poured out from the narrow gap and Nathanal shouted, "Pressure! There's pressure in there. Quickly erect an air seal, hurry up before we lose the atmosphere entirely!"

Hurried the Enginseers set up an oxygen tent, a makeshift airlock to keep the air breathable within. Coluber stepped back to let them work and in a few minutes they had a seal fixed and the doors opened wide to allow entrance. One by one the Astartes cycled through the simple airlock and Coluber let his Exemplars go first while Anaxar squad stayed behind to stand guard. Finally it was his turn, he patiently waited as the airlock cycled then he stepped into the bridge itself.

Coluber's first impression was of space, distant walls rising to an arched roof that ran away into the distance. The walls and ceiling were painted in stylised murals of noble Astartes bringing the Emperor's fury to writhing beasts and monstrous fiends with comically exaggerated evil leers. Along the edges rose-red columns, engraved with golden icons of snakes and winding serpents, they rose to the roof like a forest and between them hung ancient banners, etched with Oaths of loyalty to Terra. Before him stretched a raised walkway, lacquered to a perfect mirror sheen so it danced like water in the faint illumination of the stablights. On either side were sunken pits filled with consoles and Cogitators, fifty deep and lining the route all the way to the far end. Dead bodies were piled up around those devices, mortal servants and decayed servitors, laid out wherever they fell. In the dry air they had mummified, turning into withered husks that were once people. Had they suffocated or frozen to death, Coluber didn't know and wasn't interested in finding out.

His eyes fixed on the far end of the bridge and he spied an elevated podium, rising over the work-pits like a feral-world king sitting over his courtroom. It was oddly beautiful for an Imperial design, the steps leading up to it crafted from flawless marble and lined by graceful Nalwood railings. The podium was bracketed by encircling balustrades of red stone, delicately carved with winding serpents and mythical dragons. A statue stood at the rear of the stage, of the Emperor in regal robes. Oddly he was not presented in His warrior aspect, lacking armour or His flaming sword. Instead He seemed a teacher and moral philosopher, clad in soft robes and with one hand outstretched as if educating the ignorant masses or expounding a philosophical metaphor.

"Impressive," Coluber declared truthfully.

"Gaudy," Ferrac argued, "True warriors don't need this finery."

Brother-Exemplar Seyda commented, "These mortals didn't die fighting. No visible wounds, no sign of Gauss weaponry."

Vardat added, "It's like they just lay down to die."

"A mystery for later," Coluber stated, "Nathanal?"

The mortal was directing Enginseers to erect heat-poles along the length of the walkway and a man bearing a silver hammer was ritually banging an oxy-recyc unit as he intoned the chant of awakening. After a moment it spluttered into life, the Machine Spirit drawing in stale air through a rubber hose and brass gargoyles squatting on its top vomiting up blessed oxygen. Nathanal consulted a hand-held Auspex and declared, "Pressure's holding, temperature rising, oxygen levels tolerable. Good enough for short-sleeves work. Very well, we can take our helmets off now."

Everybody reached up and removed helms and Coluber breathed air that hadn't been disturbed for millennia. It smelled like a cold tomb, dry and desiccated and filled with old rot that had long since lapsed into dust. He sniffed once then ordered, "Set up a plasma generator, strip out the dead servitors and plug in fresh ones. Get the Cogitators awoken and make an assessment of the Starfort's condition."

"I know what to do," Nathanal retorted as he directed Enginseers to unload the heavy burdens servitors were still bringing through the airlock.

"Walk with me," Coluber ordered his Brothers as he set off towards the raised podium. He held his head high as he strode, picturing himself as lord of this place. A base filled with life and industry and a thousand Amber Vipers,all waiting upon his word. It was a heady image and he knew this was what his Chapter lacked. Not only material strength and martial power but pride, dignity and honour. A symbol of the noble ideals all Astartes should aspire to. The fact that the Necrons could come back and wipe them out at any moment, he chose not to dwell upon.

He mounted the marble steps and rose to the top, and found it was ringing by controls and pict-screens. Doubtless to display sub-sets of Tactical data from the dormant Hololith or in-depth reports. He looked out over the bridge and proclaimed, "From this position Chapter Master Tsumetai steered his Chapter. Imagine the battles he waged, the glories he won. This shall be a worthy new home."

"Only if Nathanal can get it to wake up," Ferrac scoffed

Seyda asked, "You doubt it can be done?"

"No," Ferrac muttered, "But I would rather have some working guns on this nest."

Vardat darkly muttered, "I doubt that will make any difference should the Necrons come back."

Suddenly there was a great cry from the Chattels labouring below and the sound of cogitators whirring arose. Consoles flickered into fitful life as Motive Force flowed through the systems and the lumen orbs glowed high above, casting a rich warm light. The consoles lining the command platform stirred and Coluber turned his attention to them. The controls were a standard STC format and Coluber accessed the awakening Machine Spirits, inputting a search for the former Chapter Master's logs.

The cogitators were drowsy and confused, their systems damaged by millennia of slumber. The good news was the security djinns and data-wards were in tatters, allowing him access without needing command codes. The bad news was the Machine Spirit brought up pict-records instead of logs. Coluber's brow raised as the pict-screen displayed a vid-log of an Astartes in training. He was tall and bald, his head oiled so it glistened in the grainy recording. His armour was magnificent, a plate of superior artificer make, the same hue Coluber had come to associate with the original Amber Vipers.

The most notable thing about him however was he fought bare-handed, duelling two Brothers who wielded dappled steel swords. His movements were oddly fluid, combat moves flowing into each other so there was no start or end to them. He danced through the duel, elegantly disarming his Brothers and leaving them prone on the ground, without taking a scratch himself.

"Chapter Master Tsumetai," Coluber guessed, "Of the Hollow Fist."

"Impressive style," Seyda observed, "I've never seen an Astartes move so swift or sure."

But Ferrac snorted, "Pah, no match for a good Axe-rake. Put me in a fighting arena with him and I'd take him apart."

It was a proud boast but Coluber corrected, "Ferrac, this recording is slowed fivefold for our benefit. Let's watch it in real time…"

A press of a rune replayed the recording at true speed and this time Tsumetai blurred, his fists and feet flying at such speeds the pict-screen couldn't keep up. In seconds he disarmed his foes with a display of skill that would have left an Eldar gasping in shock. It was a staggering performance but was sadly interrupted as Ferrac's fist went through the screen and shattered it to pieces. Everybody looked at the Battle-Captain but all he muttered was, "Wasn't that good," as he stormed off.

Vardat coughed under his breath, "I think he's jealous."

"Do not mock the Battle-Captain," Coluber admonished, "Be silent as I examine these records."

Coluber returned to the task and after a few false starts managed to bring up recent logs. It made for grim reading, harrowing reports of death and destruction. The final saga of the Amber Vipers and the Ghost Crusade playing out before his eyes. He committed everything to memory and considered the implications as he tried to understand what had happened. Minutes crawled by as he pondered the matter then finally he turned and descended the stairs.

He made his way back to the Chattels and Ferrac who growled, "Find anything?"

Coluber replied, "A tale of sorrow. The Ghost Crusade came here the same way we did: via Warp-gate. They found the Dyson Sphere and moved to investigate but as they did so the Necrons attacked. It was an exact replay of the attack on us, they shut down the fleets and boarded during the subsequent confusion. Again they took captives in small numbers and left, not bothering to finish off the survivors. Then they came again and again, the same each time. The Ghost Crusade couldn't stop them."

Ferrac sniffed, "Same tactics over and over, these Necrons aren't very imaginative."

Coluber sighed, "It gets worse, the tech-priests figured out some way to counter the energy drain and that's when the Necrons got serious. They attacked in force, slicing ships to bits then withdrawing out of range. One ship at a time they were taking the fleet part. Warmaster Drake sent squadrons back to the warp-gates, to carry word to the Imperium of the threat, but they were all blown to bits before they got clear. Unable to stand or retreat Tsumetai called for an all-out attack, invading the Dyson Sphere with every last man, tank and gun. He emptied the relic vaults, the armouries, even the neophyte barracks and committed the entire Chapter to one assault. The void battle raged as the armies landed, sky and ground aflame with warfare. The logs cease after that but the last record was a message from the surface to enact the Exterminatus… I don't know if they succeeded or not."

"I think we know they didn't," Ferrac spat, "The question is how do we avoid the same fate?"

"Good point," Coluber concurred, "Nathanal?"

The mortal crossed his arms and said, "Do you want the good news, the bad or the weird?"

Glares returned and Coluber snapped, "Out with it."

Nathanal sighed, "Good news first: despite widespread damage the superstructure is hale, her Adamantium bones are intact. The reactors are cold but operational and I have a working plasma drive, warp drives, even a Gellar Field. They were buried deep in the base and survived. The bad news is getting all this working is going to take everything we've got in the Factorum-ships and more. Even if I scour the derelicts for parts its still going to use up every last ship-part and every drop of reactor fuel. If you want this place to move it's going to take everything we've accumulated since we started."

"Guns?" Ferrac inquired.

Nathanal sadly replied, "Not a chance, the guns are wrecked and ninety-five percent of this place is sealed off by rubble and internal collapse. I can't get to the guns, let alone fix them. The armouries are buried in debris and the Forges smashed to kindling. This nest couldn't fight off a garbage scow."

"Guns were never going to avail us against Necrons in space," Coluber affirmed, "What was the weird news?"

Nathanal sniffed, "There's an unaccountable energy draw somewhere deep inside this nest. I can't override and shut it off. No idea why its there or what it's doing."

"I'll send a snakelet-scout team to investigate," Coluber conceded, "In the meantime start your repairs, I want this place operational as soon as possible."

The mortal scurried away but Ferrac leaned in to say, "Even if we get this nest moving how does that help us against the Necrons? An entire Crusade couldn't fight them off, what are we to do?"

Coluber whispered, "We do what we always do: survive, adapt and then find a way to kill whatever's in our way. First we secure the Serpens Rex, then we'll make a plan. In the meantime we must trust that Reddam will come back with some way to hurt the Necrons. All I need is one weak spot, one vulnerable place to punch. Everything depends on what is going on inside the Dyson Sphere."


	99. Chapter 99

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 99**

Consciousness stirred slowly, creeping up on him like a great beast stalking its prey. Flutters of wakefulness flowed through him, forcing him into alertness. Slowly he became aware that his body hurt, a pounding pulse making his head ache and his throat close. It was the beating of his hearts, a rhythm telling Kazao he was alive. That was a start.

Kazao lifted his weary head and looked to see where he was. The first thing he noted was that he seemed to be bound upright in an open box, a coffin resting on its end. The second thing he noted was that the coffin seemed to be in some form of laboritorum, made out of dark stone and filled with alien tools and devices. This was confusing, it did not resemble a Chapter Apothecarion and he could not recall his arrival. The last thing he noted was that he wasn't alone, fleshy bodies were bound into other coffins and laid out upon the slabs, dissected to reveal their innards. They weren't normal, each of them strangely warped and twisted into blasphemies of human perfection. They were aberrants, like he was.

The sight brought his last recollections into sharp detail. He remembered the fight against the Necrons, the four-armed fiend effortlessly rebuffing his squad. He remembered being caught and examined like a bug in a net, the Necron's strange interest and then being teleported away. After that was only a confused blur of pain, oppression and drug-induced hazes. Shimmering visions that could have been wakeful moments or strange dreams. It did not matter, either way he remained a prisoner.

Kazao felt outrage build within him and threw his body against his restraints, only to come up short. He was bound by the arms and legs and neck by silver bands, deceptively thin but strong as Adamantium. A Space Marines's strength was beyond human but was still no match for these shackles and he could not break them. Only his head was free to move, otherwise he was trapped.

"Finally, he's awake," came a voice.

"Who's there?!" Kazao spat invectively.

He twisted his head about and found himself confronted by a face covered in volcanic ash, with red eyes and long fangs protruding from the upper gums. An instinctive loathing arose in Kazao, his Hypno-indoctrination demanding he destroy that which was other, any unnatural mutant. It took a force of will to remind himself that this was another Amber Viper, doomed by the same flaw that blighted Kazao. Like him this one's Gene-seed had mutated, leaving him changed into an Aberrant. Only about three percent of Amber Vipers suffered this curse and they were shamed and shunned. They did not associate, they were not an order. They hid in the ranks and covered their faces, seeking only worthy deaths among true comrades.

The other nodded and said, "Centre yourself. Name's Marko and you are?"

"Kazao."

Marko accepted this and asked, "Well Kazao, welcome to our gaol. I guess your story's the same as ours, captured and locked into this prison to be experimented on."

Events were happening fast but Kazao asked, "We?"

From across the room another, one with green scales down the back of his arms and legs, called, "I'm Zasio, just as eager as you are to get out of here."

Kazao sank back and inquired, "Where is this place and how many of us are here?"

Marko answered, "Somewhere in the Necron base, we're guessing. As to numbers... there were eleven of us at the start, now there's eight."

Kazao looked at the gory piles of meat laid out on slabs and gulped, "Those were Brothers?"

"Good Brothers," Marko growled, "That four-armed fiend took them apart before our eyes."

Zasio hissed, "It didn't care we were watching, didn't care about our promises of revenge. It's like we're nothing to the Necrons but lab animals. Finally it got called away to some other affair and rushed off. lt didn't even bother to tidy up."

Kazao thumped his head on the back of the coffin and hissed, "We need to get out of here before it comes back."

"That's what we've been attempting for hours," Marko snapped, "Don't suppose you've got some fabulous hidden ability to get us out of here?"

Kazao tested his bonds again and sighed, "No, just what you see."

Zasio muttered, "What we really need is Nazrik to wake up, he can get out of anywhere."

Kazao twisted about and saw another Brother in the next coffin along. His mutation was far less obvious, his skin oily and wet but not inhumanly so. There was a serpentine cast to his features and his jaw hung a little too low, like his joints were too flexible. Kazao saw the Marine was unconscious in his restraints but the angle of the coffin let him see clearly and it was only four feet away.

Kazao had an idea and chomped his jaw, triggering his Betchers Gland. Marko saw his motions and protested, "No good, we tried that, this stuff resists acid."

"Not… my… intent…" Kazao replied.

Slowly he drew his head back and summoned acidic spittle, then he jerked his head forward and sent a gobbet flying high, too high. It sailed over the coffin of Nazrik and hit the wall behind. Kazao grimaced and summoned another gobbet, drawing his head back once more. This time his aim was short and the spittle hit the floor, dissolving limply without even marring the shine of the black stone. Zasio scoffed, "This is pointless, we can't dissolve our bonds."

Kazao ignored him as he gave it one more go and this time his aim was perfect. The acidic spittle flew right where he intended and hit Nazrik in the cheek. The Brother jerked awake with a cry of pain, his cheek sizzling as the acid chewed off his skin. He shook his head desperately trying to fling as much off as he could and roared, "Who did that?!"

Zasio interrupted, "Nazrik! Can you get free?"

The serpentine Brother fixed his eyes on the others and hissed, "Zasio, I should have known this was your doing."

Zasio rolled his eyes and said, "Just for once could you leave it alone. I didn't spit on you, he did."

"I bet I was your idea," Nazrik snarled, "I told you to stay away from me."

Kazao sensed these two didn't get along and interrupted, "Nazrik, I spat on you and it was my idea. Now you can argue about it or find us a way free."

Zasio added, "Come on, do your thing."

Nazrik glared at them then looked down and began to squirm. Kazao watched in baffled confusion as hands pulled against his shackles, then fingers began to dislocate. Thumbs and knuckles slid over each other as he pulled them through the narrow aperture, like the tendons were made of elastic. He slipped his hands free and then his elbows, arms and shoulders dislocating with sinuous ease. In moments he had his arms free and then he reached up and grabbed his neck ring before he pulled. Kazao's jaw fell as he watched Nazrik's chest slip through a bond far to small for him to fit through. Ribs compressing like they weren't the thick plate of an Astartes' Black Carapace. Kazao has never seen the like, he certainly couldn't do that, but in moments Nazrik was free.

The Amber Viper dropped to the floor and pulled his arms about with a series of popping clicks as he moaned, "I hate doing that."

"Never mind," Marko snapped, "Free us."

Nazrik moved behind each coffin in turn, doing something Kazao couldn't see. One by one he released the prisoners, dropping them to the floor and Kazao breathed easier when his turn came.

Soon eight Astartes were free within the chamber and those awake set to waking up the rest. Confusion and dismay were prevalent yet they remained Space Marines and their tactical focus returned with breathtaking speed. Within a minute they were briefed and ready to go.

Introductions were necessarily brief, there was a giant with muscles an Ogryn would be proud of, threaded with red veins. He went by the name Hasak and he didn't say much but his eyes were sharp. There was Scarrio whose head and elbows were crested with bony ridges and Eckun who looked completely normal save for his glowing blue eyes. Lastly there was Torfa, who was covered in hair, with large claws on the tips of his fingers and a mouth full of fangs. This was it then, eight Aberrants, naked and unarmed in the middle of a Necron Tomb. Even by Space Marine standards that was poor odds.

Kazao barked, "Let's get out of here."

"Hold on, Zasio snapped, "Who put you in charge?!"

Nazrik growled, "Worry about glory later. Everybody arm yourself and move out."

Kazao grabbed a surgical knife from a slab, it wasn't much but it would have to do. Others took saws and drills and other implements that at the very least made them feel better. For the dead there was no honour to be given, their gene-seed was gone and tainted beyond use regardless. Leaving the dead behind Kazao saw only one way out of here and jogged up a short tunnel, pulling up as they emerged outside.

Kazao was amazed to find himself emerging high up the side of a black pyramid. It dwelt inside a chamber but one so vast it was almost possible to think one was outside. The roof was a blurry smear high above and the walls mere suggestions to the left and right, forward and back there seemed to be no end to the place. The floor was covered by fields made up of glowing blue squares, each a ten feet to a side and just as high. They were separated by exactly the same distance, making the floor resemble a black and blue checkerboard. There was no wind to be felt, no sound or motion, all was still and silent and the temperature prickled the skin with coldness.

Zasio looked down the side of the pyramid and observed, "Smooth as glass and no stairs. There's no way down."

"Always the fast way," Hasak rumbled as the giant stepped out and jumped.

The warrior slid down the side of the pyramid on his arse, skimming down with effortless ease. The others looked at each other then jumped too, landing on their rears. Kazao was shocked by how frictionless the material was and he skidded down at breakneck speed, totally unable to arrest his momentum. His bare hands and feet made no purchase on the slope and he tumbled in an undignified pose, only to hit the floor and roll head over heels in a breathless heap. He came up short of one of the glowing blue boxes and lifted his head, to find himself looking up at a tank.

Looming over him was a Leman Russ tank, it's broad glacis plate squatting over it and it's battlecannon loaded and ready to fire. Kazao skidded away on his arse, trying to get out of the way but a moment later it occurred to him that it wasn't moving. It was utterly still, the engine making no noise and the tracks not twitching. It appeared stuck in a single moment, trapped in stasis for all time. There was even a man sticking out the top, waving his sabre in the air to exhort some battlecry. He too was not moving, a bead of blood running down his face held in a perpetual drop.

Kazao stood up and said, "Where did this come from?"

Nazrik answered, "Its not alone. Look at the other boxes: Chimeras, Valkyries, Hydras, Sentinels, mortar teams, Ogyrns. Look at the uniforms, battlefield Preachers, Commissars, officers…"

"It's the Ghost Crusade," Zasio declared.

"There must thousands of them," Kazao whispered, "Frozen for all time."

Marko was peering at the corners of the blue boxes, where silver devices pinned the energy fields in place, and suggested, "Maybe we could…"

"Touch nothing!" Kazao barked.

"But…" Marko protested.

"We have no idea what these things do or how they operate. Disrupting the field could be lethal. Even if we could shut them off, how do you think a bunch of Crusaders will react seeing eight mutants appear before them?"

"Leave it," Hasak rumbled, "Go this way."

He set off down a row, heading away from the pyramid. The other followed but Zasio inquired, "Why this way?"

"Good as any other way."

Silence fell as the group trudged on, jogging between the glowing boxes. Nothing challenged their departure and they saw no signs of maintenance crews or workers. It seemed this place ran itself, perfectly content to operate without blessings or ritual appeasements. That sat wrong with Kazao, the Machine Spirits were fickle and wayward, the idea that someone would let them run unconsecrated grated on his sensibilities. More proof that these Xenos were foul and warranted only destruction, as if he needed any.

The pyramid shrank into the distance as they fled and Marko mused, "How will we contact the Chapter?"

"One problem at a time," Kazao muttered, "Lets get out of here first."

Suddenly Zasio pointed a finger and cried, "Look! A Jokearo!"

Everybody paused to look and Kazao saw it was indeed one of those simian Xenos. He's never seen one before but his tactical indoctrination made the orange fur unmistakeable. It wasn't alone either, around it crowded other Xenos, of many races and origins. It seemed this place had an organising principle and they had left the human storage region behind to pass into other races' zones.

As they walked Nazrik listed, "Eldar, Knib, Fra'al, Talestrians, Demiurg, Borlac, Scythian, Tau, Caridans… I thought they were extinct."

Marko exclaimed, "Look this row is Orks. The entire row filled with Greenskins, as far as the eye can see!"

Kazao saw he was right, burly savages caught in poses of violent frenzy. Many of them still hanging out of their buggies and wartukks. They formed a green wall of frozen violence, forever trapped in a single moment of aggression. Kazao could almost hear them shouting their feral war cry and he hissed, "Nobody touch anything."

"Too right," Zasio muttered, "The last thing we need is a Waaagh, on top of everything else

Kazao was about to suggest they press on when suddenly a deep boom rolled through the air. From a great distance it echoed, then again and again like a massive gong being struck repeatedly. All eyes rose as the horizon darkened, obscured by a grim shadow. Like a volcanic cloud of ash it rose high and Kazao instantly knew it boded them ill. "They've noticed we've gone missing," he exclaimed, "RUN!"

With that the Aberrants turned and ran, fleeing as fast as they could into the field of blue boxes. Desperately attempting to escape notice and knowing their chances of escape were practically nil.


	100. Chapter 100

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 100**

Mathep strode through the depths of his royal pyramid with a quick gait. His form glittered magnificently, every inch of him gleaming and his scaled robe sheened to perfection. He was resplendent, but that had taken time, such artifice too important for mindless scarabs to perform, he had demanded his appearance be honed by Necron attendants. He was behind schedule but did not rush, haste was anathema to his nature and it would not do for a Phaeron to be seen running late. All of these factors were motivated not by pride but by protocol, the rituals of the Hyktot dynasty were stringent and he would comply to the letter.

Three paces behind came his advisers: Tamunn, Inotep and Antari. The Cryptek's presence was not mandated by protocol but his presence would convey the correct impression to his guests. Mathep needed them to respond as he wished. The Overlords were his vassals by ancient oath, sworn to obey his every word in the days when they still had flesh and blood but they were willful and stubborn, liable to misinterpret his orders in ways that suited themselves. Mathep needed more than their begrudging allegiance, he needed their commitment to the cause.

As they walked Inotep cautioned, "Do not underestimate Zathoem, he is gaining popularity in the court."

Mathep demurred, "My Nemesor's ambitions are known to me, they present no threat."

Inotep shook his head and cautioned, "He is undefeated in battle and those Overlords who favour martial endeavours support him."

Tamunn scoffed, "Those who can still speak that is, half of them haven't said a word in the last thousand awakenings."

"They still act!" Inotep argued, "They chafe at our quiet harvesting of worlds and convoys. They yearn for conquest and slaughter. Zathoem would give them blood across the stars."

It was a concern but Mathep replied confidently, "Zathoem is ambitious but he respects the protocols of the court. He will never move against me unless I display weakness or failure, which I never will. Protocol protects me."

"As it does him," Inotep snapped, "Zathoem knows as long as he adheres to protocol he is untouchable. A vassal who does not fear his master's punishment is a danger."

Behind them there was a sigh as Antari lamented, "Does this pointless bickering require my presence?"

"Yes," Mathep countered, "The presence of so honoured a Cryptek will reinforce my position."

Antari derided, "Such matters are your concern, mine lies elsewhere. I am losing valuable time, when I could be conducting my studies."

The Cryptek's skills were too essential to lose so Mathep reassured, "It will be worth it when the Overlords are dragging mut-ants back by the million. Think of it as an investment of effort, a few hours of your time today for billions of experimental specimens tomorrow."

Their swift walk had brought them to a majestic banquet hall, one that could have hosted an army. The black walls were covered in the glowing green icons of Necrontyr language, litanies of glorious conquests and vengeful campaigns against the ancient enemy. The roof was a flawless sheet of the same material but from it hung thousands of banners. Real cloth woven in the days of flesh and blood, held in shimmering stasis for sixty million years. Silver attendants stood motionlessly around the edges of the hall, waiting for the command to move, yet it was the beings gathered in the centre of the room who demanded his attention.

Waiting around a smooth black table stood a dozen individuals, each one as perfect in form as he was. These were his vassal Overlords, the nobility who administered his kingdom in his name. The least of them ruled over a dozen tombworlds and commanded armies that could sweep any usurper race from the stars. They were the heirs of ancient Dynasties and their bloodlines had once conquered this satellite galaxy and cleansed it of all the Old One's creations, claiming these stars for the living Necrontyr.

Mathep eyed them as he approached, recalling each of their histories. There was Hakenthup, lord of the Endless Abyss, whose legs had been converted into a long sinuous tail. Ahs, master of the Hertina Supernova, who had turned himself into a Destroyer complete with heavy Gauss cannon. Maneth, lord of the Screaming Void, who had four spider-like legs. Thouqar of the Gtinar Wastes, whose skull bore a dozen eyes. Ginmut of the Searing Point, who had whip-like tendrils for arms. Juthu and Kunthu, twin lords of the Inner and Outer Marches, seemingly normal save for the red tint to their eyes. Rekh of the Red Giants of Kina, whose feet had not touched any surface for a million years. Glimka, Satrap of the Blue Expanse who had eight arms. Finally Kinterh of the Infinite Well, whose arms had been replaced with Heavy Gauss cannons.

Mathep acknowledged their martial power but judged them no threat. Their individual changes were signs of growing neural decay. Each physical change a proclamation that they were forgetting who they were. Their minds were withering, falling apart one neuron at a time. Despite the finest neuro-buffers and triple-reinforced intellect caches they were losing their memories. Too many deaths and resurrections were robbing them of identity, leaving behind madness and dementia. If they continued to risk themselves and die over and over, they would eventually be as mindless as the average Necron warrior. A fate Mathep intended to avoid.

In the whole gathering only two were capable of speech anymore. The first was Khadjem, lord of the Dead Fields and Zathoem, conqueror of the Invasta Fortress and slayer of the last Old One in the satellite galaxy. The Nemesor, highest in service to the Phareon and most lauded vassal in the court. These two deserved respect, if not outright wariness. Their bodies were not altered, they remained as they were and their minds were sharp.

Mathep joined them at the table and proclaimed, "My loyal vassals, I bid you welcome to my world and my table."

Khadjem answered for all, "Dread Lord, we offer eternal fealty and obedience. May we know why you have summoned us."

"All in good time, first we feast."

Attendants brought heavy thrones of black stone and those who could sat, those who couldn't squatted in an undignified pose. The Overlords glowered impatiently but tradition could not be argued with and they waited as platters of clone-meat and alcoholic wines were placed before them, shimmering in crystal goblets. Of course not one of them was capable of eating the food nor ingesting the wine but the Hyktot dynasty had always feasted their vassals and Mathep insisted all rituals and customs be maintained, no matter how farcical or obsolete the custom was. Everything was as the Necrontyr had performed it, even the meat, cloned from preserved specimens of species that had gone extinct long ago.

After the servants retired Zathoem looked at his lord and remarked, "I understand another usurper incursion has penetrated your domains."

It was a subtle dig but Mathep could not punish the Overlord for it, so long as he stayed within the bounds of protocol. Instead the Phaeron demurred, "A small group of usurpers encroached and was dealt with. It is of no import."

"It must have been of some consequence, else you would not have summoned us."

Mathep eyed his Nemesor, taking in the green headdress that framed his face and the bronzed shawl that cascaded over his shoulders. Memory stirred and he recalled that in life Zathoem had lusted for his daughter, a base craving that Mathep had denied. Such fleshy desires had not survived biotransferance, Zathoem cared nothing for such things anymore, yet the impulse to take what was Mathep's endured. It was what made him so successful and so dangerous. In life Mathep had tolerated this frustrated desire, the sensation of having others crave what was his stroking his ego, but now only protocol held him back from destroying the ambitious Nemesor.

Mathep leaned back in his throne and said, "These usurpers have brought a revelation with them. A new breed of vermin, called mut-ant. These insignificant motes have opened up new vistas of possibility: a route back to the flesh."

Zathoem sniffed, "And you wish us to conquer these helpless wretches?"

It was a subtle rebuke, outwardly a humble question, but hiding a stinging suggestion that such conquests were unworthy. Mathep was not about to be goaded and replied, "Pathetic as they are, these creatures have what we require. A way to create a perfect host, immortal and free of the diseases that tormented our flesh."

Suddenly Khadjem interrupted, "Flesh… I remember flesh."

It was an odd remark, lacking his usual wit and Mathep turned his attention on the Overlord. Khadjem seemed distracted, pushing his meat around with a pointed finger. He was hunching over his meal like a predator would a kill, protective and possessive. Strange, as he could not eat it, yet he could not stop touching it. Mathep looked past the golden robes and rising headdress he wore and suddenly noted the Overlord's fingers were not digits, but talons. Curved silver claws like tiny versions of the Flayed One's.

Mathep realised neural decay had at last come for Khadjem, eroding his sanity, and saw a way to remove a threat and establish superiority over the others all at once. The Phaeron calculatedly laced his fingers under his chin and stated, "Yes flesh, the living beat of a heart in your chest and the rush of blood in your veins. We seek to reclaim such things and I see the way."

"Blood," Khadjem whispered longingly as he sliced a piece of meat with a talon, "Hot blood, having breath in your lungs and the feeling of food sliding down your gullet."

The Overlord's condition was worse than Mathep had realised, he must have been hiding his decay for a long time. Mathep knew he only needed a push to fall and goaded, "Imagine it, to live again. To stand with life in your breast and conquer the galaxy as living beings once more."

Khadjem's gaze was far away and his feral urges were rising but suddenly Zathoem interrupted, "Is that wise?"

Eyes shifted and the various Overlords tensed as so blatant a challenge and Mathep snapped, "You question my commands?!"

"Not at all Dread Lord," Zathoem deflected, "I merely seek a more efficient route. Conquest is bloody and demanding in lives but we are currently undying. I humbly suggest we conquer the galaxy first… then return to living flesh."

Dissatisfaction rang through Mathep. The Nemesor truly knew the in and outs of the protocols. He had challenged the Phaeron without challenging him, Defying his authority while appearing a humble servant. Mathep carefully pronounced, "Such warfare would be slow and laborious either way. Thankfully I have the Synaptic Annihilator, a weapon to scour worlds bare of intelligent life. Why wage war, when we can obliterate all resistance with but a whim?"

"There is no satisfaction in using such weapons. The ancient Dynasties fought in the field, seeing their foes fall with their own two eyes, not eradicating them from orbit!"

This brought nods from the Overlords and Mathep sensed he was losing them. He barked, "Success is not measured by territory alone! We must reclaim all that we were. Life and blood and soul as well as the tallies of worlds that bow to us."

"Other Phaerons do not think so," Zathoem needled.

"Other Phaerons do not rule the Hyktot, I do," Mathep snarled.

Suddenly Khadjem leapt to his feet and screamed, "I can't take it anymore, you and your blasted caution! Decrying the other Phaerons but blind to your own tyranny and madness! So timid and unworthy, you lead the Hyktot as a coward!"

A neuron clicked inside Mathep's head and he knew the Overlord had gone too far, violating protocol by insulting his master openly. The other Overlords were suddenly removing themselves from Khadjem's vicinity as Mathep raised a fist aloft and proclaimed, "You dare defy me! Learn the punishment for disloyalty."

From the corners of the room poured shadows, microscopic scarabs advancing in lockstep. They dove upon Khadjem and flowed up his legs and body, covering him head to toe. Tiny callipers bit deep and ripped away chunks of living metal as Khadjem screamed aloud. Despite their undying status Necrons retained a sense of self-preservation and a feedback damage-report system that was analogous to pain. Khadjem was covered head to toe by scarabs, eating him piece by piece and his vocalisations rose in pitch as they destroyed him.

Self-repair routines went into effect, trying to rebuild his body but they were outpaced by the scarabs, more damage being inflicted each moment than could be repaired. Khadjem collapsed screaming to the floor as his form lost shape yet Mathep wasn't done making his point. From his side he lifted a Resurrection Orb and activated it. A wondrous relic of the past the Resurrection Orb stimulated Necron self-repair subsystems, boosting the living metal's ability to rebuild.

Waves of power buffeted Khadjem and his body restored itself, only to lapse once more as Mathep cut the power. The scarabs continued tearing and gnawing at him, taking to the edge of oblivion only for the Phaeron to bring him back from the brink. Over and over, letting Khadjem suffer unspeakable agonies in endless repetition. The Overlord was in too much pain to live, yet could not die, not until Mathep allowed it.

Finally he judged the other Overlords had got the point and he lowered the Resurrection Orb. Khadjem's body dissolved into silver puddles as the Scarabs finally ended him. The Overlord's mind would even now be downloading into a fresh body in his distant Tombworld, but he would remember this pain. Mathep was certain of it.

The Phaeron turned to his vassals and uttered, "We shall conquer these Mut-ants and return to the flesh, that is my will."

Zathoem lowered his head, admitting the Phaeron had won this round and said, "Of course, Dread Lord. Your will be done."

Mathep was satisfied with his labours but suddenly Antari stiffened. The Cryptek had generously loaned the use of his micro-scarabs to the Phaeron and Mathep asked in concern, "Cryptek, What is the matter?"

"An alert from my chambers," Antari hissed, "The specimens have escaped!"

The Overlords looked at each other in concern and Tamunn barked, "I shall recapture them."

Yet Mathep held up a hand and said, "No… Zathoem you shall hunt down these escapees and bring them back."

Zathoem looked like he would argue but he wasn't about to risk Khadjem's fate and lowered his head in acquiescence. Everybody looked confused at the odd order but Mathep was ahead of them in his designs. The captives were a vermin race, but Genic-gets were persistently troublesome in their efforts. Mathep knew how resourceful and ingenious they could be, he'd experienced it first-hand. Zathoem would have his work cut out for him finding and capturing the escapees and if he failed, then protocol demanded punishment for the Nemesor. Either Zathoem succeeded and brought back valuable specimens or he failed and Mathep could be rid of a rival. As far as the Phaeron was concerned it was an exceedingly efficient solution.


	101. Chapter 101

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 101**

Brother-Sergeant Asphen was not happy with his assignment but that was nothing new. He didn't care much for his role in the Amber Vipers either but that was his demeanour on most days. He didn't like the fact he was on foot, he didn't like his scout-plate or the shotgun in his hands. He wasn't impressed with his squad-mates and he certainly didn't like this environment.

Asphen was trudging through the depths of the Serpens Rex, negotiating the tangled wreckage and fallen beams that cluttered most passages of the Starfort. Everywhere he looked walls had been blown out, spraying wiring and shattered machinery onto the floor. The pipes in the roof were cracked wide open, support beams were shorn in half and the mummified dead lay everywhere. Many times the Snakelet-scouts had been forced to reroute around corridors blocked by rubble, crawling through broken conduits and once even having to traverse a void-vented hold to proceed. They had done all this on the direct order of the Chapter Master, what should have been an elusive chance for glory turning out to be nothing more than one more disappointing slog.

Ahead Brother Bertana was waving an Auspex around as he called, "Energy emission is dead ahead, we're close."

Behind Brother Carn scoffed, "You're sure it's not another mess-hall, like last time?"

"Shut up Carn," Asphen growled, "Face forward and keep those shotguns straight."

The squad advanced, Carn waving his ridiculous pony-tail about like he was basking in the warm sun. His respirator mask hung under his chin, this compartment was pressurised and their genhanced frames could withstand the cold with ease. Asphen didn't like Carn, but then he didn't like any of the youths. Bertana with his long face, Davaad with his war-paint or Ekho with his filed teeth. The reason for this was that Asphen was older than any of them. He was second-generation whereas they were third, most of them so callow they still had their real teeth, not the vat-grown replacements all Astartes required due to harsh realities of war.

When the newest round of recruiting had come most of the Second-generation had been inducted into Secundus Cohort, a few even making it into Primus. Unfortunately someone had to lead the youths in battle so some had been held back to act as Sergeants. Asphen was such an individual, kept in Tertius Cohort so to lead youths in battle. It was demeaning, he should be on his way to glory and he felt this position was a direct insult. Unfortunately Battle-Captain Ferrac and Chapter Master Coluber cared nothing for his opinions and so Asphen had no choice but to lump it.

Brother Bertana was climbing over an upturned munitions truck that blocked the passage and remarked, "This place is immense."

Ekho replied, "Shame it's ruined, it must have been glorious in its prime."

As he followed Davaad asked, "Do you think we'll claim it for the Chapter?"

Carn scoffed, "Only if there's anything good to loot."

"Too right," Ekho chuckled, "Nothing ever changes."

Asphen was the last to climb over and he stomped down the dark corridor snapping, "Doesn't matter what we think, if Coluber wants this nest he will have it."

"Nest?" Ekho puzzled.

"It's what I heard the senior Brothers calling it," Asphen muttered, "Serpens Rex is too posh for the likes of us."

They proceeded further into the darkness, sweeping the empty passage with stablights as they crept forward. They were alert and armed but their inexperience was glaring. Asphen had seen their skills against the Orks and judged them depressingly average for Astartes, this lot would never make it to Secundus and it seemed neither would he. It was ever his lot to be last in line when others took all the glory. The idea that his sour attitude may be why he had been left behind never occurred to him.

As they walked Ekho leaned in and asked, "Asphen, is this a tripe hunt?"

Asphen sighed, "Probably, this power drain will most likely be nothing at all. Still the eyes of the Chapter are on us, so lets at least put on a good show."

Bertana suddenly pulled up and pointed to a large hatch before them, big enough to drive a Land Raider through, as he called, "Energy spike, dead ahead. Whatever we're looking for, it's in there."

"Probably just an emergency force field, eking out its last gasp of power," Carn sneered.

"Whatever it is we'll treat it as a threat until we know better," Asphen snarled, "Coluber's watching us so don't screw this up."

Carefully the squad inched inside the hatch and found themselves entering a high-vaulted chamber, ribbed with Adamantium girders. The doorway was surprisingly thick, ten meters of solid plasteel that when closed would have required concentrated lascannon fire to break down. Beyond were rotted gun-servitors, all facing the door in a ring of death.

Bertana commented, "Looks like the Amber Vipers didn't want just anyone getting in here."

"Then why leave the door open?" Ekho asked.

"Shut it," Asphen growled as they entered the vault proper.

It was huge, stretching as far as their stablights could illuminate. The walls were caked in frost and strange baffling devices and void-shield generators hung inert and powerless from them. The floor was covered in rows of storage racks, all empty and bare. They divided the vault into rows and squares, each one was taller than an Astartes and bearing strange icons.

Davaad leaned in and read a few then gasped, "Virus-bombs, Cyclonic torpedoes, Phospex…"

Asphen gulped, "This is where they stored their Exterminatus weapons."

"Looks like they used them all," Carn muttered.

"Then what's drawing the power?" Bertana asked.

Asphen gripped his shotgun tight as he snapped, "Split up, take a row and search the area. I don't like this one jot. If you see anything shoot first and ask questions later… in fact forget the questions."

The scouts broke up and inched down the rows. Asphen kept his stablight centred forward, illuminating the empty racks that had once held weapons designed to scour worlds of all life. Crossings and junctions came and went as they inched forward, pressing into the dark as their warm breath misted the freezing air with moisture. Asphen was feeling like a mouse creeping into a Carnodon's mouth and sensed something was watching him.

His vox-bead tickled in his ear and Bertana hailed, "Brother-Sergeant, the power spike… it's gone."

"What?!" he sent back in alarm.

"It's been shut off, I think our entrance tripped an automated sensor."

The hairs on Asphen's arms stood on end as alarm swelled in his breast. He strained his ears and heard a distant rumble, so faint a human would have dismissed it as imagination but his hearing was not so easily misled. He heard the noise of metal moving and the tread of something large in the dark, trying to go unnoticed. A thrill of anticipation ran through him as he realised they were not alone in the vault, something was with them and it was awake.

Suddenly there was a drawn-out scream, deep as only an Astartes could be yet crying in agony in a way no Space Marine should. Instantly he leapt into motion, shotgun held firmly in his hands as he raced towards the sound. The squad converged on the location, stablights waving erratically over the shelves as they ran. They screeched into a nexus of racks and found Brother Davaad, slit open from neck to groin to spill his innards onto the ground. The shock of a Brother's death ran through Asphen but his training made him note the wound was too wide for a sword or spear, whatever had done this had been broad, too broad for anything man-sized to wield.

"Davaad!" Carn cried in dismay

"Silence!" Asphen hissed, "Remember your training. Focus and stay alert, whatever did this is still out there."

Ekho gulped, "We need to fall back and summon reinforcements. The Codex Astartes says…"

"Retreat?!" Asphen interrupted, "Never, we are Astartes. We find what did this and tear it apart."

Bertana swallowed as he said, "What if it's some Necron Construct? Something they left behind to catch an intruder."

"Then we kill it," Asphen snarled, "We have Krak grenades that can split open a tank. Form pairs and keep sharp, track it by sound. I heard something moving."

The youths looked concerned but they obeyed. Carn and Bertana went left and Asphen and Ekho went right. They were separated by only a single rack of shelves yet it felt like leagues. The idea that something was stalking them triggering their most feral instincts, the sensation ancient cavemen had felt when a cunning predator had their scent. Asphen kept his hand near a grenade at all times as they advanced. He saw shadows moving in the edge of his beam of illumination and fought the urge to sketch enemies in the gloom with his mind.

As they hunted Ekho whispered, "Brother-Sergeant, should we be doing this? It won't reflect badly on us to admit we're outmatched."

"Keep your opinions to yourself," Asphen snarled, "I won't be second-guessed by…"

Suddenly the air was split by one scream and then another. This time accompanied by a loud banging of shotguns firing and a flash of actinic light. Asphen leapt into a fast run, racing to find the next gap in the shelves. He moved with genhanced speed but it seemed leagues and leagues to the end of the row. Abruptly there was a gap and the pair skidded around the corner, racing back up the other side.

They ran for all they were worth but ahead they saw the sickening sight of two bodies: Carn and Bertana. Carn had been electrocuted to death, his body fried to a crisp. Bertana was hanging from a rack, his feet above their heads and a metal spar sticking out of his chest as blood dripped from his dead feet. It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds since they had encountered whatever it was, but the Astartes hadn't stood a chance.

Asphen's throat tightened as he hissed, "It took them apart like they were nothing."

Ekho knelt and picked up a shell case as he remarked, "This should be hot but its cold as ice, everything is. Look at the ice on the shelves, that's not natural. They got off a few shots, but what were they firing at...There's no sign of enemy blood anywhere."

"Necrons don't bleed," Asphen hissed, "Whatever did this was big, too big for us. We can't match this, we need to run."

"But you said," Ekho protested.

"Forget what I said," Asphen snapped, "We fall back and summon the Chapter in force, now!"

Instantly the pair broke into a run, heading back towards the entrance. Asphen could feel the enemy closing upon him, the sense that the predator was about to pounce. He cursed his hubris for not retreating earlier, the knowledge that his foolish pride had got half his squad killed a lump of burning coal in his gut. He had screwed up badly but had no time for recriminations. There was only their flight and the desperate attempts to reach out with his vox, trying to contact his masters for aid.

Through the darkness he ran, taking turns that he knew would lead them to the exit. He put one foot after another, all thoughts of glory swept from his mind. It was after the third turn that he realised he was running alone. He screeched to a halt and spun about, but of Ekho there was no sign, he had vanished. This shouldn't be possible, he was but a step behind but somehow Ekho had disappeared.

Asphen was about to call out but suddenly there was another scream, wracked with agony and tormet. It was close, too close for comfort and Asphen knew it was too late to save his last Brother and that he was next. He hurriedly backed up, retreating towards the door with shotgun held before him, stablight sweeping back and forth for a target as he voxed, "Chapter Master Coluber, Battle-Captain Ferrac, come in. Brother Asphen to Chapter Command, can you hear me?!"

His vox-bead crackled and a tinny but blessed voice called, "… phen this is Colu… Report sta…"

"Enemy contact engaged," Asphen called as he retreated, "Large contact, unknown form, possibly Necron."

"Repeat," Coluber signalled, "Did you s…eron? Report squad stat…"

"They're dead!" Asphen blurted out, "It killed them. It's my fault, I got them all killed!"

"Hold true Brother," Coluber voxed, "Keep your spi… strong... I am on-route to aid…"

Whatever was next Asphen never heard it. There was a soft scuffle behind him and he turned about in alarm, looking up and up and up. Between him and the door was a massive shape, twice the height of an Astartes in plate and powerful enough to break one in half without trying. His eyes widened as he took in its bulk and he grasped how wrong he had been, how utterly wrong. Then there was only pain and torment and his screams as it claimed him body, mind and soul.


	102. Chapter 102

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 102**

They ran, what else could they do, they had no real weapons and no armour. None of them was deluded enough to think they could hurt the Necrons so they fled. The Aberrants turned away from their pursuers and ran as fast as they were able. To stand and die would serve no tactical or strategic purpose, so the only option left was to retreat.

Kazao's arms pumped as he galloped down a row of glowing blue cubes. He was sprinting as fast as the swiftest human athlete but thanks to his genhanced physiology he could sustain this pace for hours. In one hand he held a surgical knife, the diminutive tool pathetically small in his grip but it was all he had. Otherwise he was naked and unprotected.

To either side passed blue boxes, each one holding a strange creature in stasis. Kazao had long since stopped recognising the races, they were unknown even to the Hypno-indoctrination machines and he suspected they may well be from species that were long extinct. Behind the black pyramid had vanished into the distance but the grim cloud was growing ever nearer. Whatever it was it was moving faster than the Aberrants and it had their scent.

Kazao risked a glimpse back and saw it was getting closer and gasped, "What is that thing?"

Before him Brother Eckun with the glowing eyes snarled, "You don't want to know."

"You can see that?" Kazao wheezed.

"These eyes aren't just for show," Eckun spat as he redoubled his efforts, "Trust me when I say we don't want to be caught by that."

Ahead the black wall rose up like a mountain, absolutely sheer and featureless. It already filled the horizon as far as he could see, the distances hazy even to his eyes. They had been closing steadily on it, desperate for an escape route but unsure there even was one. But they had no options other than to continue and trust there would be a door, or a tunnel or a crack… anything to get them out of here.

As they ran Zasio cursed, "Fang-rot, these cubes never end. There must be billions trapped in these."

Nazrik pulled slightly ahead as he snapped, "Trust you to find the most worthless thing to say."

"I had my fill of your bile in training," Zasio spat, "I won't stand for anymore!"

Suddenly Marko ran past them both and snarled, "If you two don't shut up I'll kill you myself and leave you for the Necrons!"

The threat was hollow but it at least got the bickering pair to be silent. Kazao's legs were starting to burn with exertion, even a Transhuman body finally struggling to clear lactic acids. Yet his will was undaunted and he slowed not a morsel as he pushed himself to the limit. To his right the hirsute Torfa gambled along on all fours, spine cracking like a Mastiff's as he thundered forward. Kazao could barely match him but would not fall behind, not when the wall was so close.

Suddenly Eckun screeched to a halt and barked, "Stop! Necrons, between us and the wall."

"How many?!" Scarrio yelped.

"Ten of them, standard warrior forms. I don't think they've seen us yet."

Kazao gulped down cold air as he hissed, "There's no way we can rush those guns, we have to go around."

Marko nodded, "No time to argue, go right and Eckun let us know when we're clear."

Instantly the aberrants veered right, racing through the fields of blue boxes, heading parallel to the wall. Kazao cursed every moment they wasted, keenly aware that the black cloud was closer than ever. He could only trust that they would get clear of the lurking squad before the cloud caught up, else they were doomed. What the Necrons intended he did not know, yet one thing Kazao was certain of was that he would not go back into that laboritorum. He would die fighting before allowing himself to be captured once more.

Abruptly Eckun veered left shouting, "A door! I see a door!" Kazao could barely make out the wall but trusted the Aberrant's sight and everybody followed. For long minutes they ran at the wall, the mountain of its girth growing ever more defined. He felt the shadow of the cloud on his heels drawing ever closer, seeking them with unwavering focus and did not know if they would reach the wall before it overtook them. His breath was stinging in his lungs now and spikes of pain shot up his shins with every step but he did not relent. He pushed himself to the limit as he raced for the wall, then he saw it. A door: a wide aperture in the wall leading out of this place, open and inviting.

Everybody pushed themselves to the utmost edge of their speed and Marko shouted, "Hurry, we're almost out!"

But Eckun yelled, "Look out!"

As they passed the corner of a blue box two forms appeared and attacked. Kazao saw broad shoulders and metallic faces attached to a spine that tapered away like a long tail. They had no legs but boasted vicious talons for fingers, that promised inevitable death. Wraiths, same as had attacked his squad in space, coming for them like bloodhounds.

"Scatter!" Kazao yelled as the Wraiths struck and everybody dove aside. Kazao felt a talon whisk past an inch from his face as the Wraith shot by and knew it would have taken his head off had it made contact. Marko wasn't so lucky; the other Wraith swept low and struck his thigh, shearing through muscle and bone like it was nothing. Marko went down spraying blood from his sundered leg, the limb almost hanging off entirely.

The Wraiths shot by and vanished into the floor, tails flicking like diving fish. Kazao knew they'd wouldn't go far and shouted, "Form a circle, they'll be back!"

Everybody backed up and Nazrik hissed, "You've seen these before?!"

Kazao replied, "Yes, they have some form of phasing, they can't be hit when they fly past. They can only be touched when they move in for the strike. Hit them when they pounce."

Suddenly Eckun yelled, "To the right!" From the shadows the Wraiths returned, talons gleaming with deadly intent. Kazao saw them coming but resisted the urge to attack, waiting for the moment when they pounced. They shimmered in and out of being as they closed, only their eyes remaining true, filled with hatred and scorn. Then they hardened into solidity and Kazao yelled, "Now!"

As one the squad leapt, tackling the pair of Wraiths. Silver talons flashed and Nazrik hissed as his shoulder was rent, but with his other hand he stabbed a scalpel into its side. Kazao followed suit, wrapping his arms around its shoulders and digging in with his knife while Zasio grabbed it lower down. The others tackled the second Wraith but Kazao had no time to watch as they fell to the floor in a heap.

He lifted his arm and stabbed down again and again, penetrating the silver of the Wraith's body. Each blow was tiny but he would not relent, desperately gouging over and over in a quest to find some vital mechanism. Nazrik followed suit, blood pouring down his chest as he stabbed with his good arm. Yet it was Zasio who was doing the most damage, his arms moving like pistons. His limbs shot back and forth at an incredible rate, blurring as he let loose an onslaught of stabbing frenzy. It was like his tendons were made of coiled springs, granting him speed and strength no normal Astartes could boast.

Together they dug their knives into the flowing metal of the Wraith, tearing chunks of it away and leaving gouges in its form that healed over in moments. Kazao gritted his teeth as a talon scored over his bicep, leaving a trail of blood, but he persisted in his attack. Then suddenly he fell forward, hitting the floor with both hands. The Wraith was gone, not phased out but sinking into the ground like a ghost. It had retreated but not abandoned the fight. It would be back, Kazao was sure.

He rolled over, looking to see how the fight against the other Wraith was going. What he beheld was a scrum of bodies, all fighting tooth and nail. Scarrio was stabbing furiously into the silver neck as Eckun levered a drill bit between the ribs. Hasak was punching it repeatedly in the face while Torfa slashed with his feral claws and gnawed with his fangs. They were taking it apart piece by piece, but it wasn't going down easily.

A silver talon flashed and Eckun flopped back, weeping blood from a cut to his chest. A gap was cleared and the Wraith tried to get up but suddenly Scarrio was on top, straddling its chest. He held his arm aloft and then flexed his fist oddly, causing a length of bone spur to erupt from the back of his wrist. He stabbed the mutant claw into a glowing eyesocket with a snarl of righteous hate and the Wraith froze. All was silence for a moment, then the Wraith shimmered and faded into nothing, phasing away in defeat.

Everybody gasped for air, weeping blood from vicious cuts and feeling their many wounds burning. Eckun was first to his feet and declared, "We did it, we beat…" The next few seconds were seared into Kazao's memory. Eckun froze as a halo of ethereal energies played around his skull, his face going slack and imbecilic. He twitched once and then flopped to the ground as neural tissue leaked from his eyes and ears. Behind him a tall Necron with one eye shrugged a long rifle as it wrapped itself in shadows and tried to disappear.

"No!" Kazao yelled in dismay as he scrambled to his feet. The Necron sniper was fading away before his eyes and he raced to intercept it, but Hasak was faster. The giant Aberrant came out of nowhere and wrapped the sniper in a bear hug, lifting it aloft as he roared his anger. The Necron kicked wildly and shadows danced as it tried to evade but Hasak would not let go. He shook it like a rag doll, trying to break its spine and the violence caused it to drop its rifle.

Hasak piled on all his strength, trying to crush it to death but living metal was not so easily broken. Its hand caught a wrist and dug deep, ripping tendons and it broke the grip holding it aloft. Hasak roared in frustration as the Necron dropped to the ground, intending to escape, but Kazao was already there.

He barrelled bodily into the Necron and sent it staggering. It tripped over its own feet and fell backwards, straight into one of the blue boxes. Shimmering stasis-fields enveloped the Necron and held tight, locking it into a perpetual fall. It seemed even Necron technology could not overcome stasis for the sniper became motionless, literally. Its fall arrested for all time as it hung at a forty-five degree angle inside the stasis-field.

Kazao gasped for air as he said, "Eckun?"

"Dead," Nazrik wheezed, "As will we be if we don't move."

Kazao picked up the discarded rifle, he didn't know if it affected Necrons but it made a handy club and he said, "No time to mourn, pick up Marko and let's go."

From the ground Marko protested, "My leg's done for. Leave me, I'll only slow you down."

But Hasak grabbed him and said, "Keep quiet, I carry."

The giant slung him over a shoulder and they set off once more. Kazao saw the cloud was closer than ever and set a punishing pace, heading for the wall again. They ran for all they were worth and surprisingly Hasak matched them pace for pace, his strength not troubled by the weight of Marko. Closer and closer the wall came and Kazao saw the blessed door in all it perfect majesty. Yet the shadow of the cloud was mere metres behind and it was closing.

Faster and faster they ran then finally the confines of the door engulfed them. Kazao stopped and waved the Aberrants inside, sending them down a long featureless tunnel. Hasak and Marko were first, followed by Zasio and Nazrik, then Torfa. Last of all was Scarrio, who was lagging behind.

Kazao turned to see what was holding him up but his breath caught as he beheld Scarrio standing stock still, four silver talons sticking out of his larynx. Behind him the remaining Wraith floated into view, its eyes glowing evilly. Kazao reached out his hand in denial but a twitch of the silver talons sliced the neck apart and Scarrio's head fell from his shoulders, hitting the ground with a soft thump. The Wraith dropped the body as blood fountained everywhere and Kazao knew he was next.

Two Brothers were dead, a Wraith on his tail and the shadow of doom almost upon him. Faced with useless death Kazao did the only thing he could. He turned and ran, fleeing the scene of the fight and leaving the cooling corpses behind. So he fled into the depths of the Dyson Sphere, to face whatever horrors awaited them deeper inside the Necron's Tomb.


	103. Chapter 103

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 103**

The Vox had gone silent, there was no more word from the Snakelet-scouts and that concerned Coluber. He barrelled down a corridor at full pelt, ceramite boots ringing in the echoing expanse. His helm's autosenses penetrated the darkness easily, sketching monochrome images in his vision thanks to a beam of stablight. He vaulted overturned munition trucks and ducked under fallen girders, not letting anything slow him down. Brothers were in danger and he would not abandon them.

Behind Battle-Captain Ferrac and Brother-Exemplars Vardat and Seyda kept pace, power armoured legs sending them bounding forward with great leaps. They had been touring the lower reaches of the Serpens Rex, making plans for future rebuilding and defence strategies for the Necron's return, when the distress call had come in. Brother-Sergeant Ashpen had reported a possible Necron construct, maybe some sentinel left behind in case of intruders, then there had been nothing but silence.

Coluber kept up a furious pace as he voxed, "Ashpen, come in. Report status."

Only silence returned and Ferrac snarled, "They've run into trouble."

Coluber snarled, "I shouldn't have sent them in so blithely, I should have expected a trap."

Ferrac rebuked, "You afford to can't start second-guessing yourself."

Coluber retorted, "Yes I can. I was too entranced by our new prize. Too busy dreaming of this place's glory to stop and think anything dangerous could be lurking in these depths. If those Snakelets are dead it's my fault."

One step behind Vardat interjected, "Anaxar squad are five minutes out, we should wait for reinforcements."

But Coluber snapped, "I'm not leaving my Brothers to die!"

They suddenly spied a wide door ahead and the four dove inside. Weapons were in hand as they raced through the entrance, only to pull up short when they emerged on the other side. Passing through a thick passage they emerged into a high vault, filled with rows of empty storage racks. One glance told Coluber this was an armoury for the most lethal of weapons, the wards and baffles lining the walls proclaiming how overdesigned this facility was to keep a dangerous arsenal secure. Yet what drew his eye was the cold body laid out on the ground.

Ferrac, Vardat and Seyda took up guard positions as Coluber knelt to examine the body. It was a Snakelet-scout, clad in carapace armour and with a respirator hanging under his chin. A shotgun lay next to his gloved hand, cold and unfired. Coluber reached out and rolled the corpse over, only to grimace under his helm as he saw it was Sergeant Asphen. One of the least promising and unimpressive of his generation, but still an Amber Viper. His face was limp and his eyes open, staring at something only the dead would ever see. A Brother in arms killed by an unknown foe. Self-recrimination rose in Coluber's gullet but he shoved that aside, Ferrac was right there was no time for second-guessing, they had to find what had killed the scouts and destroy it.

Coluber hissed, "Dead, but there are no signs of injury or weapon strikes. It's like he lay down to die."

Ferrac hissed, "I know of only a handful of ways to kill without leaving a mark… none of them good."

"Stablight's off, vox only," Coluber ordered as he stood up, "Search by pairs, flush the enemy out and converge."

Seyda and Vardat nodded and took up their Burst-lances as they went left and disappeared behind a row of shelves. Ferrac and Coluber went right and the darkness enveloped them. Autosenses described wireframe images of the empty racks but Coluber's hearing was more useful in the dark. Power armour was not famed for its quietness, armour purred as servo-motors flexed and his backpack thrummed, yet over the growling he heard a thumping beat, like something metallic striking a hard floor.

Over a closed vox link he said, "Something's in here with us."

Ferrac hefted his axe-rake and sledgehammer gun as he replied, "I hear it too. It's big, but oddly quiet. It knows the layout of this place and it's stalking us."

Coluber held Venom loosely in his grip as they advanced down a long row. He could still hear something moving in the distance but the noises were echoing wrong, muffled and distorted in a way he had never experienced. A mortal would have lied to themselves that they were imagining it, that the sound was only their fear manifesting, but Coluber knew better. He was in danger, they all were, a lifetime of war told him he was being hunted and he trusted his instincts. Yet for all his keen senses the foe was somehow masking its presence. It could be only one rack over and he wouldn't see it.

Suddenly he spied lumpy forms ahead, two Snakelet-scouts laying dead in the row. One had been electrocuted, the other affixed to a jagged spar of metal over their heads. The deaths were oddly crude for Necron weaponry and Coluber eyed the bodies with suspicion saying, "They made a fight of it, but a short one."

"Look how high up that one is, whatever did this was big," Ferrac hissed.

Coluber didn't know but asked, "Still got that melta-bomb?"

"Course I do," Ferrac scoffed.

"Good, we're going to need it."

Once more they set off, heading deeper into the vault. Coluber spied places where weapons of unspeakable power had once rested, now empty and void. Was there anything left in this vault he would have turned the entire place over to the Cerberii, but it seemed the contents had been used up. Virus-bombs capable of devouring all life, cyclonic torpedoes to set atmospheres alight, World-breaking magma-melta warheads designed to drive a molten core into catastrophic frenzy, all useless against the Necrons. The original Amber Vipers had unloaded everything they had and yet the Dyson Sphere was still here, a most troublesome truth.

Coluber forced his thoughts back to the here and now as the pair came to the end of the row and found a strange device before them. It was a pedestal, about a metre high and ringed by upright columns and sitting under the shadow of an overhanging projector. It was certainly Imperial in make, the snaking cables covering the floor and the purity seals and blessed cogs attested to that and it still flickered with errant lights as it powered down.

"Stasis-field generator," Coluber breathed, "Used to store the most lethal ordnance… or a lone watchman left to guard against intruders."

"This must be the source of the power drain," Ferrac muttered, "But why would the Necrons bother to use Imperial technology? They have their own devices."

"I'm not sure," Coluber demurred but at the back of his mind a nasty suspicion was starting to form.

Suddenly there was an almighty screech from the other side of the vault and the unmistakable crackling of contact Volkite fields flaring. Coluber's head spun about as he heard the Brother-Exemplars engaging something. He instantly leapt into a run as he heard mechanical grinding noises and cries of defiance from the Exemplars. Whatever they were fighting was large enough to trouble two of the finest blades in the Chapter and he was determined to get there before it was over.

"Vardat! Seyda! Come in," Coluber voxed.

"We've engaged the enemy!" Seyda roared, "It's not what we thought… its…"

The vox cut off and Ferrac snarled, "They need help," as he triggered his jump-pack.

"No wait!" Coluber barked but Ferrac was already leaping over the storage racks, soaring high on wings of fire.

Coluber gritted his teeth as he raced on, skidding around the next row and dashing up its length. It took an eternity to catch up and he cursed every step of the way. Finally he caught up and found Ferrac standing over Seyda and Vardat. The Brother-Exemplars were laid out on the floor, Burst-lances inches from their unmoving gauntlets, yet a faint blinking in his helm's display told him they weren't dead. They were down but their hearts still beat, unfortunately that still left Ferrac and Coluber alone against whatever had done this.

Ferrac was examining something on the floor and said, "Look, ice covers everything but it left a track. One footprint."

Coluber looked and commented, "I see it, that's no Necron."

"But it's as big as my chest!"

Coluber nodded, "But look at the shape. That's Imperial make, we're fighting something human-made."

Ferrac looked about suspiciously as he muttered, "Some form of servitor battle-automaton. Something the original Amber Vipers left behind in stasis, in case someone came poking around?"

"That's my guess," Coluber answered.

"Let's get after it," Ferrac snapped.

"No!" Coluber rebuked, "This thing has been leading us in circles. I'm done playing its game, I want to draw it to us. I'll expose it while you lay a trap. Climb that rack there and keep the Melta-bomb handy."

Ferrac nodded and pulled himself hand over hand up a rack, then lay flat on its top. Meanwhile Coluber strode to a T-junction and planted his feet squarely. He could see all directions clearly, nothing should be able to sneak up on him. He drew back his fist and slammed it against a rack, causing it to ring like a struck bell. Again and again he slammed his fist into it, then he drew his Volkite pistol and yelled, "I am here!"

Something stirred in the darkness, drawing nearer and nearer. Coluber gripped Venom in his right hand and his pistol in the left as he waited. Tension thrummed through him and he felt anticipation etching his nerves, lending him speed and strength to fight. He was on the razor's edge and he knew the enemy was close, so close now he could almost smell it.

Suddenly there was a scuffle to the right, a strange noise that made him want to turn and look. An impulse to gaze right nearly consumed him but he held true, too many Brothers had been taken unawares by this foe and he was not about to be deceived, so instead he turned and looked left. What he beheld was a confused medley of impressions, a giant warrior in plate armour, a monster with its jaws open, a winged serpent diving upon him, a tank driving at full speed. His eyes refused to focus, his brain fighting conflicting impressions, but he knew the foe was upon him and he yelled, "Ferrac now!"

With a roar of fury Ferrac leapt high, jump-pack flaring brilliantly in the dark. He held his axe-rake in one hand and the Melta-bomb in the other as he dove upon the blur, screaming like a banshee. It was a fine charge and his trajectory was perfect, it should have seen him land right on top the blur yet before he could touch it a red fist shot upwards and grabbed him in mid-air. Metal fingers the size of an Astartes' leg wrapped around his chest and then hurled him aside, flinging the Battle-Captain into an empty rack and causing it to topple over with a clatter of ringing bells.

Coluber saw Ferrac go down and instantly lifted his pistol and fired. A stream of ravaging energy shot forth but bounced off a glowing force-field, deflected away by arcane science. The shot had done no harm but it shredded the veil of deception and Coluber beheld his enemy truly. Arms and legs made of pistons held aloft a smooth Sarcophagus wrapped in beautiful iconography. Curved shoulders as broad as his breastplate were etched with serpents and a glowing sensor-dome lurked under a rising cowl formed into the semblance of a serpentine head. Thick armour bore ornate calligraphy, plates were burnished to a sheen and the Imperial Aquila stood proud over its frontage. One arm was a crackling power fist and the other a glowing Katana blade, longer than a mortal man and wide enough to cleave a tank in half. Coluber's jaw fell as he realised how utterly wrong they had been about the nature of their foe and he gasped, "Dreadnought… Contemptor-Dreadnought."

"Frakking die!" Ferrac roared as he bounded to his feet and leapt at the war machine.

"No!" Coluber yelled but the Dreadnought moved like lightning, faster than it had any business doing. The blade swung wide and caught Ferrac in mid-jump, the flat slamming into him and sending him skidding away in a tangle of broken bones.

Coluber spent a millisecond considering calling out their allegiance to Terra and pleading for the fight to stop but knew it was useless. This war machine, this ancient survivor of the original Amber Vipers, had spent millennia waiting for intruders to break in and would not listen to reason. No plea could turn him from his course and he would not stop until all he encountered were dead. So Coluber lifted Venom high and ran straight at the towering war machine as he cried, "Ave Imperator!"

He managed three whole steps before his charge was arrested. From nowhere chains of invisible force wrapped around his limbs, binding his arms and tangling his legs. Bonds he could not see wrapped around him and before he could process that fact he was hoisted off the ground, dangled helplessly in mid-air like a puppet on a string. He could not move, he could not fight and his armour was etched in ice as an aura of power crackled around the Dreadnought's headpiece.

Coluber had thought his shock could grow no deeper but he was stunned as he realised he was looking at a legend, no, the ghost of a legend. His throat convulsed as he whispered, "Osiron…"

The Dreadnought turned to glare at him as he dangled helplessly in the air and for the first time it spoke, a mechanical growl defaming, "Unworthy renegades, bandits and thieves in my house!"

Coluber could only stare in horrified amazement as he gasped, "Who are you?!"

The next words turned his world upside-down as the Dreadnought proclaimed, "I am Chief Librarian Maru Kysoto and you are trespassing in my home."

Coluber couldn't form a reply, his mind stupefied. He could only hang limply in the psychic chains and then telepathic knives sank into his brain and took him away from consciousness, dragging him into a dream world and all else was lost to his sight.


	104. Chapter 104

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 104**

Kazao didn't know where they were. This was enemy territory and they had no maps or references to steer by. For hours they had fled deeper into the Dyson Sphere, exploring its strange contours and maze like interior, but seen nothing they recognised or could identify. The Necrons had built this environment with no reference to human understanding, it was their home ground and they held all the advantages.

Currently the Aberrants were squatting under a strange monolith of black stone, hanging in mid-air with no visible means of support. It was as big as ten Baneblades laid end to end and long green lines converged on a hollow circle set in its middle, that bored straight through it. None of them could even guess what function it served, or if it even had one. Kazao had placed his hand against it once and felt no vibration, no tang of energy or sense of a Machine Spirit at work. For all he knew it was a statue or a cogitator or maybe a reactor core, there was no way to tell. Yet it was serving as a splendid cover.

He looked out from their shelter and beheld an endless vista of silver metal and black stone. Dropping away from where he stood was a black abyss, beyond which lay eldritch devices and green power lines, crackling with energy. This was the heart of the Dyson Sphere, where its almighty function was performed and the technology on display was bewildering. Machines in the shape of pyramids and spires and squares rose as far as the eye could see, a convolution of knotted angles that made his head throb. Machines thrummed with latent power and between them drifted Canoptek Sypders, mindless tending to their tasks with all the awareness of a servitor. The light was dim and hazy, surfaces cold to the touch and there was the taste of metal in the air, an iron tang that caught in the back of the throat. It was like being a tiny bug caught inside a Chronometric timekeeper, seeing the cogs and gears moving in infinite complexity and knowing one misstep would see them crushed to paste.

At his scaled feet was a sheer drop, falling vertically until it disappeared into pitch darkness. Yet about twenty feet down there was a pair of beams, made of solid light. They were about five meters apart and ran straight, before they vanished into a tiny green mote in the distance. Kazao was counting under his breath and sure enough when he reached zero there was a silver flash in the corner of his eye. Suddenly a long silver conveyance flew around a corner and passed under him, segmented parts riding photonic rails like a freight train. It was moving fast but still took five whole seconds to whisk by, before riding off towards the green mote.

Kazao watched it go then stepped back and declared, "Four minutes thirty-five seconds since the last one. Just like the last three we've seen."

Marko grunted, "Regular as clockwork, these Necrons are as dogmatic as a Tech-Priest."

Zasio asked, "Then we're all agreed?"

Kazao affirmed, "We jump on the train and ride out of here. It's far faster than we can run and will take us away from our pursuers."

Everybody seemed resigned to the plan but Nazrik scoffed, "You hope, you have no idea where that train goes."

"Do you have a better plan?" Zasio snapped.

Nazrik glared at him and spat, "Anything that gets me away from you."

Suddenly the hirsute Torfa snarled, "Nt wth ths tw fghtng!"

Marko nodded as he said, "Torfa's right, your bickering is costing us time and focus. Knock it off or you'll get us all killed!"

Kazao concurred, "Four minutes, then we jump. Get ready."

The others stomped off as Kazao took up his stolen rifle. It was a strange device, a long barrel fitted to a series of glowing orbs and pulsing firing chambers. He had no idea how it worked, how it liquefied brain tissue, he couldn't even find a trigger but it would serve as a club. He hefted it once and then looked at Marko and asked, "How's the leg?"

The ash-faced Marine looked at his leg which was covered in clotted Larraman cells and growled, "It's dead weight."

It was true, below the packed scar tissue the leg had gone grey and pallid, rapidly edging into black. The scything blow to his limb had severed vital arteries and smashed the genhanced bone. It was hanging by a wisp of tendon and artificial scabbing but it was obviously dead. No Apothecary could restore this limb to life, he would never walk on it again.

Marko looked up and stated, "It's time to face reality, I'm not going to make the jump."

Kazao swallowed as he countered, "Nonsense, we'll carry you. When we get back to the Chapter Shrios will fit you with an Augmetic and you'll be fit to fight in a few weeks."

Marko shook his head and said, "Lugging me along will make that jump impossible. You need to leave me."

Kazao knew it was true but suddenly the muscled giant Hasak growled, "I carry."

Marko's head snapped about and he hissed, "Don't be an idiot, you need to go!"

But Hasak's jaw was set as he stated firmly, "I carry."

Kazao sighed, "Looks like he's made his mind up."

Marko threw up his hands and lamented, "Idiots! Very well, if you insist on this lunacy at least let me even the odds. Pass me a scalpel and I'll cut the leg off. Its weight will throw you off."

Kazao saw he intended to slice off his own leg and gulped, "We have no pain balms…"

"It's only pain," Marko said as he placed his hands around the limb, "You may not want to watch this part."

Kazao slunk off as Marko started slicing his own leg off, even Space Marines not wanting to watch someone mutilate themselves. He went to stand between Torfa and Zasio and remarked, "Three minutes."

"Nzruk!" Torfa snarled through a mouth of wet fangs, "Prblm!"

Kazao muttered, "I know, I know, but we can't do anything about Nazrik's grudge. What's it all about anyway?"

"Nazrik? It's a long story," Zasio sighed.

Kazao however pressed, "We can't afford this bickering anymore, what's going on with you two?"

"Nothing," Zasio demurred.

"H jt thm trnd nt brrnts!" Torfa snarled.

"You're telling it all wrong!" Zasio protested, "Very well, if you must know. Nazrik and I were in the same training batch. You remember how they divided us up into groups for the Gene-seed implantation; well I found a way to trick the draw."

Kazao frowned as he countered, "But it was randomised, we were sent to the Apothecarion by drawing lots."

Zasio lamented, "Well I outsmarted them, there were five of us who were good friends and we wanted to stay together. Me, Nazrik and a few others. We thought we would be squad together, a group of heroes like in the legends… idiots that we were. So anyway I tricked the draw and got us all assigned to the same batch, we went in and received the first implantations and that's when the Aberrations started."

Kazao shuddered as he remembered the horrific sight of his own flesh mutating, his tainted gene-seed warping his body in unnatural ways. Few Amber Vipers suffered such an affliction but those who did were condemned to lives of shame and disgrace. Other Chapters would euthanize any deviants without hesitation but the nascent Amber Vipers needed every bolter they could get and allowed the Aberrants to fight, on the understanding that they would have no legacy other than a worthy death.

Kazao probed, "Nazrik blames you?"

Zasio lamented, "He's right to; it was my trickery that got us assigned to that tainted batch. Three of my friends died on the slabs and we two were left as Aberrants. Had I not done it then Nazrik would be a whole and untainted Space Marine, maybe we both would."

Kazao didn't know what to say to that, how could he comfort someone who lived with their own mistakes every day. The consequences of Zasio's choices were writ in his own flesh, he saw it every time he looked in a mirror. Kazao's mutation had been random and tragic, a universal hiccup, but Zasio had condemned himself to it and his former friend too. There was no easing of the guilt Zasio must feel.

Suddenly Torfa jerked up and snarled, "Trn Kms!"

"Right on schedule," Kazao declared as he shrugged the rifle between his shoulder blades, "Get ready to jump!"

The Aberrants lined up along the edge of the drop, waiting for the first glimpse of the coming train. Zasio, Kazao, Torfa and Nazrik all crouched in preparation. Hasak hoisted Marko over his shoulder, notably leaving one leg behind on the floor. Marko's face was screwed up in agony but he did not scream, no Astartes would let pain make him cry. Kazao knew the weight would make Hasak's jump twice as hard but there was nothing to be done, save count down in his head and prepare.

He counted down to one and cried, "Now!" On command the Aberrant's leapt, pushing out over the dizzying drop. At the exact moment they did so a blur of silver came barrelling around the corner, racing along at breakneck speed. They had timed it perfectly, in the time it took them to drop the distance the train was under them and their feet hit its surface with a thump, but they had misjudged its speed.

"Arr!" Kazao yelled as his feet were dragged out from under him, the silver surface yanking his legs aside. His shoulder hit the top of the train and he rolled towards the edge, one hand scrabbling at the slippery substance but could find no seam. The metal could have been cast from a single piece of material, without rivet or join. The rifle across his back clanged on the living metal but did nothing to slow him. Wind sheer pushed him back and suddenly his legs fell into the gap between segmented parts of the conveyance. The jolt ran through him but his hands caught the lintel and arrested his fall.

Kazao breathed deeply as he pulled himself up and looked to see the others. Nazrik, Zasio and Torfa had landed more gracefully than he had but Hasak and Marko were clinging to the side of the train. Their hands were slipping and in a few more moments they would fall into the black abyss. Instantly Kazao leapt to assist, grabbing Marko's wrist and planting his feet squarely. He heaved Marko onto the top and flopped back, sucking the cold air into his lungs as the wind whistled past. Zasio and Nazrik were heaving Hasak up and the muscled giant came up slowly, one centimetre at a time until he was flat on the roof.

Everybody sank back in relief and Zasio spat, "That was too close."

Marko's chest was heaving in agony but he gasped, "My thanks Brothers, you have shown me what true courage…"

His thanks were cut off as Torfa yelped, "Lk Ot, Ncrns!" Kazao's head shot about in alarm and sure he saw what they were hurtling towards. The silver train was curving slightly as it followed the rails into a glowing green archway, filled with a puddle of light. Some form of portal that would take it far away. Yet lined up on top of the arch were a squad of Necron Warriors, facing them squarely with Gauss rifles aimed. The Aberrants were being whisked towards a firing squad and there was no way off the train that didn't lead to instant death. Kazao's looked for a way to evade but there was nothing they could do and the train would be in range in moments. Desperate for any way to avoid being blasted to pieces Kazao yelled, "Quick, take cover between compartments!"

The Aberrants jumped to follow him as he dove between the segments of the train, hanging from the lintel by his fingertips. The others flopped down alongside him, Marko grimacing as pain shot through him. The wind tore at their fingers but Kazao held on firmly as they sped on, heading right into the teeth of the Necron's fire. A moment later actinic green blasts shot overhead, trying to blast the Aberrants. Terrible gouges were blown into the material of the train, atoms stripped from the living metal by arcane sciences no human understood. Kazao watched in horror as a hole emerged two inches from his arm, blown straight through the top and out again like it was tissue paper.

More blasts tore into the train as it whisked on and Zasio cried, "This will never work!"

"A few more seconds," Kazao implored, "Give us a few more seconds."

The firing increased in tempo until the top of the train was punched full of holes but by a miracle all the Aberrants avoided being hit. Kazao could see nothing but the slice of space directly overhead, filled with dim shadows. Then in an instant later green light engulfed them as they plunged into the archway. Kazao felt like he was being turned inside out as space folded and contorted around them, tunnelling through the fabric of the universe and taking them far, far away.

Reality returned as the train shot out of another archway and the slice above their heads turned a brilliant blue, the colour of a sky on a sunny day. Kazao heaved himself up and cried, "We're out! We're on a world…"

He stopped as he beheld their new location. They were travelling over a vast plain of metal, flat and smooth as a mirror. Ahead and behind the horizon seemed endless, but to left and right staggeringly high walls rose until they met a shimmering forcefield, as blue as a summer sky. The train was hurtling over the plain towards a single tower, a lone rampart set in the midst of this nothingness. Converging on that tower were dozens of trains, all exactly the same as the one they were riding, minus the gaping holes.

Kazao looked about in confusion and hissed, "We're still in the Necron's base…"

Zasio heaved himself up and muttered, "At least we can see a sky, fake or not."

Nazrik rolled onto the roof and asked, "What do we do now?"

All Kazao could say was, "There's only one thing we can do. We keep going, until we find some way out of here and trust that our Brothers will come for us."


	105. Chapter 105

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 105**

Coluber awoke to a dream world. He knew this thanks to meticulous training by long-dead Librarians. In another age he had marched in other colours and that detested band had trained their initiates to recognise and resist psychic intrusion. So Coluber knew his mind was in a world crafted by a puissant psyker, unfortunately he was not one himself so could do nothing about it. Strong mental walls protected his sense of identity and continuity of events, but all he could see and hear was what his foe wanted him to experience, so he had to treat it like it was real.

He started by examining his feet. He appeared to be standing on a rocky shore, with smooth wet stones under his bare toes. His skin prickled with a cold breeze and the scent of cherry blossoms was in his nostrils. His body was as normal but he was wearing only a soft robe in an unfamiliar cut. He heard bird song in his ears and the faint cry of fishermen in the distance, going about their lives. The illusion was remarkably detailed, the work of a master and Coluber's estimation of the craftsman rose a notch.

Finally he opened his eyes and looked out upon a beautiful lake fed by mountain streams that were ice cold. Two suns burned in the sky but they were small to his eye and provided little warmth. Fish darted under the water and blossoming trees sat back from the water's edge. Sitting on the edge of the lake was a small white pagoda, within which a Space Marine sat with his legs crossed. He too was wearing a soft robe and before him was a low table, covered in bowls, utensils and a boiling pot of water. Coluber knew this could only be the maker of the illusion and strode closer, crunching wet stones under his toes.

As he closed he saw a Marine in his later years, body hardened with Transhuman muscle and a Black Carapace lurking under his robes. His hair was swept back and was pure white while his round face was lined with many scars and a short nose. His eyes were purple, perhaps a trait from his homeworld or a quirk of gene-seed, yet they glimmered with warp power.

Coluber was well aware that his captor could burn out his mind in an instant, so decided discretion was advised. He stopped short of the pagoda and made a short bow then asked, "Maru Kysoto I presume?"

Maru was busy tending to his collection of bowls and leaves but he replied in a pinched accent, "At last, someone who remembers his manners."

Coluber straightened up and asked, "May I join you?"

Maru waved a hand and replied, "Be seated."

There were no chairs so Coluber was forced to sit crossed-legged across from the Chief Librarian. He waited patiently as Maru aligned his tools in some ritualised fashion unknown to Coluber, then finally he looked up and asked, "You do not intend to fight me?"

Coluber shrugged, "I could not possibly win. This is your dream, therefore your rules apply."

"You recognise my weaving," Maru purred as he passed his hands over the table in ritual fashion, "This is a recreation of memory. Nippour IX, the primary recruiting world for my Chapter. Sadly gone now, I see in your memories that it was eaten by a Hive Mind. It exists only in my memories, as does the ritual of Tanna."

Coluber was worried how easily the Librarian read his memories but covered by accusing, "You killed my scouts."

Maru placed green leaves onto a stone block and began grinding them with a bevel and he stated flatly, "They were intruding in my home. They stole my Chapter's good name. So I tested their minds in the traditional fashion and found them wanting. They were uncouth, vulgar and disrespectful."

Coluber swallowed a glut of bile as he pressed, "You killed them for being rude?!"

"I killed them for being weak and unworthy," Maru replied without remorse, "I looked into their minds and saw disloyalty, ambition and a desire for personal glory festering. They brewed sedition in their hearts. If the rest of your bandits are the same then you have produced poor excuses for Astartes and I will have to end them too."

Coluber's anger rose and he snapped, "More are coming, you cannot defeat us all!"

Yet Maru countered, "They will not arrive in time to save you. This conversation is taking place between one beat of your hearts and the next. Our discourse will end when your heart beats next, which is likely to prove your last."

Bile rose in Coluber's throat but he bit it back as he countered, "I note you spared the lives of Vardat and Seyda, you left the Brother-Exemplars breathing."

Maru took up a whisk and began mixing the leaves as he explained, "In them I saw untapped potential. Dedication, loyalty, firmness of purpose and a commitment to their role that is almost admirable. Untempered swords that with proper honing may prove worthy."

"And Ferrac?"

Maru's lip twitched slightly as he said, "Your attack-dog believes he is taking Tanna with the Djomo's six-year old daughter. He is most irate, he has snapped her neck one hundred and four times already only to be reset to the beginning… correction: One hundred and five times."

Coluber cut to the real issue and asked, "And myself?"

"That remains to be seen," Maru demurred, "Your life depends on your answers."

"Can't you just reach into my mind and find what you want?"

"Naturally, but knowledge and understanding are two sides of the blade. Your responses will tell me more than any amount of psychic probing. Do not mistake my courtesy for tolerance or forgiveness, if you fail to convince me to spare you then your death is certain. Let us begin by you excusing your many crimes."

Coluber sensed he was in trouble and deflected, "I don't know what…"

"Do not lie to me!" Maru growled as thunder rolled in the clear sky, signs that his anger was stirring, "I have seen your origin. You ran from the renegades who turned against Terra. You thieved and killed to survive. I see blood on your hands, servants of the Most Glorious Emperor and loyal Space Marines died so you could live. I behold the sordid deals you make, the dishonourable pacts and base trades. Selling your Brother's lives for fuel and bolt-rounds. You are shameful and dishonourable, a mercenary sword for hire to the highest bidder. You taught your mockeries of my Amber Vipers to revel in the eight cardinal sins: indolence, deviousness, imprudence, vulgarity, covetousness, opprobriousness, sedition and intemperance. As if these crimes are not serious enough you stole our name and dragged our memory through the mud!"

Coluber retorted, "I have done the Emperor's work. I have put down rebellions, cleared out pirates and heretics. Slain Xenos hordes."

"Pathetic victories, unworthy of mention. Nothing you have done justifies your crimes."

"We had to survive!" Coluber snapped testily, "We swore oaths to seek revenge on the traitors, only to see them die before we could catch up! Then we had a choice, throw our lives away on a worthless mission or rebuild under another banner."

"You feared death," Maru stated flatly as he poured the crushed Tanna leaves into a porcelain bowl.

"My only fear is an unworthy death, a death with no purpose. I sought to serve the Emperor and find a death that furthered His cause."

"Throwing my words back my face will not further your plea," Maru snorted.

"Then tell me what you would have done in my place."

"We chose death!" Maru roared as his calm demeanour snapped, "When the Ghost Crusade was beset and overrun by the Necron menace my Master Tsumetai called for a Steel Typhoon. The full and total commitment of every asset we had. Every relic was unsealed, every tank and plane and bolter was sent forth, even the lowest recruit and most crippled training instructor was dispatched. Every Brother accepted the command and wrote his death poem before setting forth, resolved to not return. Only once in our history has such an order been given, for the Chapter must accept its total destruction as the price of failure. It was the ultimate expression of our Way, the most perfect example of our commitment to the Emperor."

"I read the logs," Coluber sighed.

"You know nothing," Maru hissed, "I alone was left to guide our fleet, a safeguard to enact the ultimate sanction if they fell in battle. And they did, I sensed my Brothers being dragged down one by one. When it was certain the Necrons would win I moved the Serpens Rex into low orbit and unleashed our full arsenal. I unleashed the Exterminatus weapons and watched the Dyson Sphere burn. But to my horror they instantly started rebuilding, undoing the damage like it never was. Under fire I pulled the fleet back and made our last stand. The void was aflame with dying ships and the detonations of ordnance. That we would die was certain but we were determined to make them remember us, remember the pain we inflicted."

"It must have been glorious," Coluber sighed.

Maru's face fell as he continued, "We hurt them, we hurt them so badly their patience snapped. They came at us with a weapon unlike any other, a device fitted to their largest ship. It blew through our shields like they were not there, liquefying the brains of mortals in an instant. Nothing could withstand it; nothing could stop it, save my Psyker powers. It killed every last one of our crew and left our ships adrift in space, only I remained. Alone with my grief."

"I have seen similar guns in action," Coluber mused "But this sounds like a macro-scale variant, a weapon to scour fleets and worlds bare. An exterminatus-grade version."

"That wasn't the worst," Maru lamented, "I sensed my Brothers yet lived. They were dragged out of stasis one by one and experimented upon like vermin. Taken apart one cell at a time, neuron by neuron. I felt their deaths from here and I watched them pass in shame and indignity. The Necrons did not even grant them an honourable death. I watched them all pass, then sealed myself in stasis to linger with my shame. The dishonour of having lived when my Brothers died."

Coluber heard the pain in his voice and saw possibility unfolding. So he bowed his head and said, "I too know this shame, it was the root of my quest. I see we have much in common, shared suffering and a…"

"Stop," Maru commanded with a glare, "Do not think to turn my will or sway me to your cause. Your mind dwells upon the possibility of recruiting me but I will not abandon my honour to consort with bandits like you."

Coluber's faint dream died as he whispered, "Of course, a wounded Dreadnought like you would not desire to live."

Maru added boiling water to the green leaves, filling the air with pungent aromas as he scoffed, "Again you display your ignorance. I was not wounded before being interred. I chose this fate, as do all Amber Viper's Chief Librarians. I spent a year and a day meditating upon my duty, consuming nothing but leaves and water as I forsook all desires. I became the purest expression of duty, before I was sealed into the sarcophagus of the Chief Librarian's Dreadnought."

"You became a Dreadnought willingly?!" Coluber yelped.

Maru nodded as he explained, "The real Amber Vipers taught: Be true to the thought of the moment and expunge all distractions from your soul. Other than continuing to exert yourself, desire nothing but to become a living embodiment of a single thought. I was the avatar of that creed."

Coluber commented, "A noble sentiment, yet inflexible in practice. An Astartes should be ready to fight with whatever comes to hand. Everything should be a weapon to him. He should excel in any role, at any time."

"A limited philosophy and a poor attempt to avert my wrath," Maru Kysoto scoffed, "You have failed to convince me to spare you, or your little band of renegades."

Coluber's anger stirred as he barked, "We are not renegades!"

"Not yet but soon," Maru stated, "Your bandits know not the eight virtues of Honour: Determination, Courage, Sagacity, Courtesy, Penury, Dignity, Fealty and Self-Control. If you had a real Librarian in your ranks he would have rejected every last one of those wretches upon recruitment. They think only of themselves, when the last of your 'Old Seventeen' passes they will turn from the service of Terra. Within three generations your bandits will embrace the Ruinous Powers of Chaos. That is what you have built, that is your legacy."

Coluber hissed, "If I believed that was true, I would slit every last recruit's throat myself."

"You speak truth," Maru remarked with surprise, "Unexpected, but it does not change the facts. You have already scorned eighteen chances to end your story with pride and honour, now I must do it for you."

"But there is yet hope!" Coluber pleaded, "With the Serpens Rex as a base I can teach my recruits what it means to be an Astartes. Show them the worthiness and glory of our order. They can learn what it means to live as a warrior of the Emperor. You can help me; you can instil in them a determination to be better!"

Maru's lip curled as he snapped, "You sully my Brother's memory and you think I will help you?! You are a bandit and a thief, without principle or dignity. You have nothing to offer me."

Coluber was desperate now and cried, "I can offer you revenge!"

Maru's hands froze and his eyes hardened as he growled, "What?!"

Coluber swallowed as he elaborated, "The Necrons took your Brothers apart, they rendered them down to nothing in shameful defeat. They inflicted the greatest dishonour a warrior can know. I can offer you a way to hurt those bastards, to make them bleed for what they did. I offer you vengeance, pure and simple."

"I do not desire revenge; I do not desire anything save my duty."

"I think you do," Coluber argued, "I think that's why you went into stasis, to await a chance to strike back, to exact one last wound on those who destroyed your Chapter. You may be a philosopher and sage, but you are yet Astartes and in your hearts burn the fires of a warrior. No Space Marine would allow his Brother's deaths to go unavenged. I offer you the means to do so. Join my Chapter and we shall take the Emperor's wrath to the Undying, even if it is our last battle."

Maru's hands were still and his thoughts impenetrable. The Chief Librarian was still as a statue and Coluber felt the weight of the decision being turned over in that cool mind. Finally Maru placed his hands flat on the table and stared into Coluber's eyes as he stated, "You have my interest… tell me more."


	106. Chapter 106

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 106**

Kazao pulled himself up the black stone wall. Another handhold presented itself and he rose again. Then he shifted his footing and pushed up the wall once more. He had been doing this for an hour, climbing vertically up the outside of the tower. Thankfully the wall was festooned with ridges and odd bulges making the ascent possible, but not easy.

The Aberrants were below, climbing steadily in his wake. Zasio and Nazrik had blessedly stopped bickering, saving their breath for the climb. Marko was clinging onto Hasak's shoulders, brought up like a sack of ammunition. Finally there was Torfa, who seemed to be having the worst of it. His spine was hunched like an animal's and climbing vertically forced his body to stretch in ways his aberration wouldn't allow. It was obviously paining him but he refused to admit it and persisted in his climb, determined to reach the top.

Kazao lifted his hand once more and felt empty air above him. Surprise ran through him and he nearly lost his grip with his other hand but clamped down on the impulse and forced himself up. He emerged on a ledge, running around the circumference of the tower. Used for observation, maintenance or some other purpose he didn't understand. Still it seemed a good place to rest so he pulled himself onto the flat surface and rolled over, gasping for air.

In moments the other aberrants joined him, all flopping onto the cold dark stone with lungs heaving. The ledge was wide enough to drive a Rhino along so there was plenty of room for them to rest. They were Astartes, with endurance beyond mortal understanding, but even for them a free-hold vertical ascent was challenging. An hour of relentless climbing, without rope or crampon, had taxed them and they flopped down to rest with weary sighs. Kazao winced as he rolled onto his rifle and reached back to pull it from between his shoulders. The others were equally tired, even Marko who had been holding their meagre collection of knives and saws to free the other's hands.

Torfa was panting like a mastiff as he asked, "Hw mch fthr?"

Zasio rubbed his head as he looked up and sighed, "We're only about a third of the way up, so another couple of hours."

That brought groans from all as they contemplated the climb to come. Wearily Kazao rolled onto his side and peered over the edge. Wind should have torn at his face at this altitude but there was nothing, no movement of air at all in this unnatural environment. What he beheld was a dizzying drop, one that made his palms tingle with vertigo. The tower fell away in a lethal plunge, straight down to a vast plain of metal. Across that plain ran silver trains, emerging from scores of glowing green portals and all converging on the tower. Beyond them the Dyson Sphere stretched, thousands of kilometres visible ahead and behind and vast walls rising about a hundred kilometres away to left and right. It was a marvel of engineering, one any Tech-Priest would have waged a war to study but Kazao's only concern was escape.

The Aberrants had been brought to the tower by their damaged train and swiftly determined there was nowhere else to go. The trains only seemed to be heading one way and there was no cover in any other direction. Still they hadn't been foolish enough to ride their conveyance into the waiting maw of the lower levels, where escaping notice would have been impossible. So they had jumped off just short of the tower and then closed to the walls on foot. Kazao wasn't sure what they hoped to find in the tower, but they had run out of other options.

It was then he heard Zasio saying, "We can't keep going like this."

Nazrik scoffed, "Giving up?"

Zasio lifted his head to snap, "Not I, but Torfa's not going to make it."

"M' cn tk whtvr g cn," Torfa snapped.

"Don't be an idiot," Marko retorted, "You're not built for climbing and I'm dead weight."

Nazrik growled, "Astartes never give up!"

However Kazao interjected, "They're right but not for that reason. Tactically this is foolish, we're easy targets out here, if we're spotted we will be picked off in one volley. We must have bypassed whatever security this place has, it should be safe to sneak inside."

"You guess," Nazrik snorted.

"Got a better idea?" Kazao snapped, "No, then let's find a way inside."

Wearily the Aberrants got to their feet, Marko clinging to Hasak's back. They collected their meagre weapons and set off along the edge, looking for a doorway to let them inside. Zasio glanced over the plain and muttered, "What do you think those trains are bringing?"

"Unknown," Marko replied, "But there sure are a lot of them, I estimate a train must be arriving every minute. Whatever they're doing here surely requires a staggering commitment of resources."

Nazrik hissed, "That must make it important to them, maybe it's something we can break."

Zasio paused then and asked, "Are we here to fight or to find a means of escape?"

Kazao sighed, "Until we see inside there's no way to tell. Maybe we can find a conveyance capable of taking us away or a transmitter to call for aid. But we have nowhere else to go, this is the end of the line for us. If there's no way out then we'll try to find something we can break, that way we can at least hurt the Necrons before they kill us."

Torfa snarled, "Nt gng bck t dt lbrtrm."

"Agreed," Nazrik stated, "Better to die fighting than be dragged back like an animal."

Suddenly Hasak rumbled, "Door." Everybody looked to see where he was indicating and sure enough an opening presented itself, a wide aperture leading inside the tower. Kazao led them to the edge and peered around, but saw no guards. Cautiously he moved through the opening only to pull up short when he beheld what was inside.

The tower appeared to be hollow, nothing but an empty shell standing upright on the plain. Instead of solid floors the interior was a vertical plunge, falling away into the depths of the Dyson Sphere and rising high until it became a tiny dot of blue over their heads. The edge of the interior was lined with complex machinery, devices that pulsed with blazing green energies and smooth ramps and catwalks in a dizzying array of tangled paths.

Yet the strangest thing was the object hanging in the middle of the tower. Suspended inside the tower was a complex mechanism of rods and spheres and supports. It was as big as a frigate, three kilometres long that he could measure and its far end disappeared into the darkness below where Kazao could no longer see. It was hanging in mid-air with no visible means of support, suspended by forces beyond human understanding. It pulsed rhythmically, the various chambers glowing greenly before passing their charge onto the next in a sequence that made it look like a heartbeat. Kazao didn't understand what this thing was, nor why the Necrons went to such efforts to protect it, but he knew it was important.

"What is that thing?" Kazao breathed warily.

Zasio replied, "I don't know but it looks like this facility was built to house it. This whole tower is nothing but a silo for... whatever that is."

Nazrik mused, "Whatever it is it must require enormous resources to service. Think about how many trains we saw coming and how much material they must carry. If the Necrons are willing to commit such resources to this one object it must be important."

"We should break it!" Zasio cried.

"Are you stupid?!" Kazao yelped, "We have no idea what that thing is, touching it could blow up everything for a thousand kilometres."

Yet Nazrik hissed, "Even more reason to do it."

Kazao was about to argue but suddenly Hasak spat, "Big rifle."

Everybody paused and Kazao frowned in confusion, then he saw what the Aberrant meant. Turning his focus ninety degrees let him see the object was broadly similar to the rifle he still held, the one that liquefied brains. It was far vaster in scale and contained many components he didn't recognise but the placement of the firing chambers and connections was a match for his weapon. It was a ship-sized version of the rifle, stood on its end to rest upright.

"Fang-rot," Kazao breathed, "That is trouble."

"Dt's shtstrm 'f crp," Torfa muttered.

"Too right," Marko concurred, "We can't let it stand, we have to do something about that. We saw what one of those rifles did, imagine what a macro-scale version could do."

"Sadly we aren't going to see anything standing here, let's move higher up and see what we find," Kazao stated.

Slowly the Aberrants moved off, climbing ramps and catwalks in an attempt to find something useful. They circled the interior of the tower as they ascended, ever watchful for guards or workers. Kazao kept his eyes peeled but saw nothing save floating Canoptek Spyders and smaller scarabs, tending to the arcane mechanisms. Kazao knew little of Xenos ways but he suspected these were like Servitors, mindless drones dedicated to their role and unresponsive to other stimuli. Why the Necrons hadn't covered this place in guards was a mystery: arrogance, ignorance or some other factor no human could grasp perhaps.

Suddenly Marko yelped, "Look! A control lectern!" Kazao saw a crescent-shaped pulpit, hovering above the floor. It was covered in green crystals and columns of light projected shimmering displays into the air. If it wasn't some form of control station then Kazao couldn't imagine what it was. No attendants laboured over it but it did not seem to need them, it flickered in odd patterns, completing its labours without any outside intervention.

Everyone rushed over and Marko was set down so he could peer at it as he muttered, "Power levels... energy controls... system initiation sequencers."

"You can read this stuff?" Zasio asked in surprise.

Marko replied, "No, but a power graph is a power graph in any language. I don't know what scales the Xenos use but this thing is drawing energy in an expositional growth curve. It's radiating emissions like nothing I've ever seen, it must be visible from half the Stellar system away."

"Can you overload it?" Nazrik asked.

"Not a chance," Marko demurred, "I wouldn't know where to start… but I wonder what this button does?"

He reached out and pressed his palm on a large green hemisphere and then all the lights started flickering. Kazao looked about in amazement as the light in the walls flickered erratically and the graphs in the projections dropped significantly. Marko snatched his hand away and said, "It appears to disrupt the local energy flows."

Lighting returned to normal as Zasio spat, "Don't do that again."

Yet Marko looked thoughtful as he pondered, "Actually I think I will."

"Are you mad?!" Kazao yelped.

"No I'm coming up with a plan," Marko refuted, "I said this thing is radiating energy, so if someone were to disrupt it in a deliberate pattern that would be obvious to anybody watching."

"A pattern… like say a Chapter distress code?" Zasio guessed.

"A crude one but yes," Marko stated, "Using on and off, I can make a simple call-sign in tap-code."

Kazao was amazed at his ingenuity but ventured, "Won't the Necrons notice that and come running?"

Marko lowered his head and whispered, "Yes they will, which is why you are going to leave me here to send the signal while you move to the top of the tower."

Kazao's breath caught as he protested, "We can't leave you."

"You must," Marko affirmed, "Someone has to stay here to send the signal and I'm crippled."

"Stop playing the martyr," Zasio spat, "You've been trying to off yourself since you lost that leg."

Nazrik concurred, "We don't even know anybody is out there watching."

But Marko argued, "If there isn't we're all dead anyway. We can't survive much longer and thinking we can hurt the Necrons in any significant way is a fantasy. The only thing we can do is get out and warn the Chapter of what we've found, that is our only objective. This plan is a fool's hope but it's all we've got. Someone has to send the signal and whoever does so won't make it out. I'm the right choice for this, you know it. You've already shown true Brotherhood towards me, now it's my turn."

Kazao swallowed as he said, "Remember our creed: Cold hearts, fast blades and unbreakable in our loyalty to each other… that cuts both ways. He's right, for the good of the unit someone has to make this sacrifice and we have to let him."

Heads hung low as Zasio said, "Goodbye, you'll be remembered."

Nazrik declared, "There is no finer Brother in the Chapter."

"M' prd t hv knwn g," Torfa snarled.

"Stand proud," Hasak intoned.

Marko accepted their praise and said, "Thank you, now go. I'll give you five minutes then I'm sending the signal."

With heavy hearts the five Aberrants turned and walked away, leaving Marko behind to die. Kazao's hearts were heavy but he knew it had been the only choice. The cruel necessities of war were implacable and unforgiving. For five to live one had to die. Kazao swore he would never forget Marko's sacrifice, he may have no genic legacy but the Aberrant had found a worthy death, the kind of ending they all dreamed of.

Slowly they ascended, climbing towards the top of the tower. After five minutes the lights started flickering, on and off and on again in a crude distress call. Kazao knew the signal would be clear and unmistakable, now they could only trust someone was out there to hear it. If not then all this was utterly pointless.

For several more minutes they continued to climb but then Zasio hissed, "Ware below!" Kazao glanced down and saw a billowing cloud spilling into the tower, filling it with shimmering blackness. It swirled about once then dove straight for the control lectern, like an arrow sprung from the bow. A surge of darkness engulfed the level where they had left Marko and there was a faint scream, filled with the agony of one whose flesh was being flayed from their bones. Terribly it echoed, but then fell silent, leaving no doubt that Marko was dead.

The cloud fell back and began swirling once more, probing the tower as if searching for something and Nazrik gasped, "They've found us."

"Make haste," Kazao barked, "We have to get to the top of the tower before it catches us and trust in the Emperor that someone is coming to rescue us!"


	107. Chapter 107

**Tales of the Amber Viper 107**

The stellar system was littered with the drifting hulks of dead ships. Vessels from every starfaring race of the galaxy left broken and bleeding in the void. They spun in the empty void as monuments to failure and trickery, each one a victim of the Necron's might. Some had been lured here by turncoats, some had wandered through the Dolmen-gates on their own initiative and others had been seized on the far side of the galaxy and dragged here unwillingly. It mattered not, all were silent tombs now, forgotten by all. Save for one.

Among the wandering corpses the Peregrine edged between wrecks, lingering in their shadows for many hours before dashing to the next cover and the next. The blockade runner had been advancing this way since the attack on the Amber Viper's flotilla, inching further into the Necron's domain. Her crew had forsaken her great speed for secrecy, trusting the tiny vessel would pass unnoticed among the dead hulks. So far it seemed to be working, they had seen no sign of Necron vessels so assumed the Undying had not detected them. Either that or they judged the blockade runner so insignificant that it wasn't worth destroying.

On her bridge Glord was staring into a surveyor screen and reported, "That energy spike is increasing again."

"It's been doing that for hours," Sergeant Reddam mused from the Command Dais, "I wonder what it's for?"

Glord's eyes rose to the Hololith and he beheld the Dyson Sphere. It was a vast creation, encircling the whole star in a matrix of black stone. The lines and nodes described a sphere of blackness, drinking in the star's power and doing Emperor-alone knew what with it. Glord had heard of marvels of human engineering, rings that encircled worlds and Fortresses that stood proud among the stars, but this edifice put them all to shame. The Necrons were privy to secret lore beyond the finest human minds and nothing in the Imperium could match this feat.

Giving vent to his frustrations Glord sighed, "What exactly are we expected to do against that?"

Reddam kept his eyes on the Hololith as he retorted, "Whatever we can."

"But we have nothing that could even scratch the surface, nothing human-made compares to this."

Now Reddam's eyes turned to glare at him and he snapped, "Do not compare the majesty of human engineering to Xenos trickery. This abomination is big but everything has a weak point, we just have to find it."

Glord rolled his eyes and retorted, "Quit playing at being Chaplain, we both know you're thinking the same thing."

Reddam deflated as he admitted, "True, but keep quiet in front of the Chattels, we don't want to scare them."

Glord glanced at the bevvy of mortals attending the cramped bridge stations, they seemed nervous and they had good reason to be. They had seen the power of the Necrons first-hand and were well aware that the Peregrine couldn't survive one volley from the Xenos. As if that wasn't bad enough they had left the rest of the Chapter behind, poking around a derelict starfort, as they headed straight into the Carnodon's den. Provoking the enemy to react.

Glord stepped closer and muttered softly, "Do you think Kazao's still alive?"

Reddam sighed, "We can only trust that he is and the others too. We won't abandon them, not while there's a chance to save them."

Glord glanced at the displays and remarked, "That thing is several times the size of an inhabitable world. How are we planning to find a dozen Brothers in all that?"

"I don't know," Reddam confessed, "We must try though, to do otherwise is unthinkable. We'll look for anything strange or out of place. If I know one thing about our Chapter it's that we excel at stirring up trouble."

Glord nodded in agreement and said, "In that case I'd better check on the others."

"Go make sure they're ready to launch at a moment's notice," Reddam confirmed then lifted his voice to order, "Let's get a better look at that energy flare. There's a hulk three degrees off the starboard bow, give me a ten-second burst from the manoeuvring thrusters and take us into its shadow."

Glord left the bridge and made his way down into the Peregrine. He passed various Chattels tending to the ship's systems, still repairing the collateral damage suffered in the attack. Sweating Enginseers applied sparking tools to open panels while senior lay-preachers waved smoking braziers and chanted aloud from leather bounds tomes of Binaric psalms. Glord left them to it, not interrupting their sacred mysteries as he descended ramps and slid down crew ladders. The Peregrine wasn't a large ship and he soon made his way to the primary launch bay, where he found the rest of the squad observing the lone Cerberii tending to his dropship, Doombringer.

He slid along the hanger wall to stand alongside Tebes, Joffel and Larus and asked, "What's happening?"

Tebes replied, "The Cerberii is making preparations."

Glord saw the lone form of Berio, the Cerberii who had joined their mission. He was a grim figure, his power armour blackened head to toe. Not ceremonially painted as a Chaplain's would be but scorched black by the tainted weapons he wielded. Only two motes of colour stood out on his form, a bloody handprint over his faceplate and the Chapter's icon of a snake wrapped around a goblet, detailed in livid red.

He loomed over the squad in his plate but was dwarfed by the Cadmus-robot. The battle-automaton stood head and shoulders over the largest Astartes, with piston legs and arms that bore weighty Fission-Blasters. Its head was armoured by an overhanging cowl and the round form of its sensor-dome boasted multiple eye lenses. The robot was working to shove piles of debris up the ramp of Doombringer, using its immense strength to pack metal shards and dead bodies into its cargo bay.

Glord frowned as he asked, "Why are they doing that?"

Larus sniffed, "Berio said something about making preparations for the coming fight."

"By stuffing broken metal and corpses into his dropship?"

Joffel scoffed, "Who knows why they do anything, the Cerberii are disgraced and mad."

Glord shuddered at the thought and hissed, "Better to die cleanly than live in disgrace."

Tebes was staring at the robot and commented, "Is it just me or is Brontes looking annoyed?"

"Brontes?" Glord asked in confusion.

"The Cadmus-robot, I overheard Berio referring to it that way."

Joffel rolled his eyes and muttered, "Fang-rot, they're naming the damned things now."

Larus sniffed, "What else would they do: call them robot?"

Glord stared at the Cadmus-robot and whispered, "I've never liked those things, I always think it's watching us. Like its thinking something behind those glass eyes."

Tebes snorted in disdain, "You are being foolish, it is a machine no more no less. It cannot think anything, it merely obeys commands and acts according to preset protocols. It is no different to the Battle-automata of Mars."

"Except these weren't made on Mars," Glord rebuked, "Don't forget the Chapter found these things on Athelling, along with the tainted weapons of the Cerberii. We don't know who made them or why. We have no idea how the Cerberii reactivated them. Who knows what goes on beyond the Gates of Perdition?"

Tebes fell silent but Joffel deflected, "I care little for automatons, but that drop-ship is something else." All eyes turned to Doombringer and examined its form. Glord had never been so close to the Cerberii's dedicated transport and he peered at its strange silhouette. It was essentially a rounded box with wings, a squared fuselage fitted with downswept wings, engines at the back and a pointed cockpit perching high over a front-ramp into the cargo bay. Built from STC lore it was an Iapetus anti-grav hauler, a civilian orbital lifter intended to drag cargo from the dirt to the void and back. But like most things in the Imperium it had been repurposed to serve a military function.

The underside had been fitted with four twin-linked heavy bolters, to clear out landing zones. The dorsal side had four las-talon turrets, two to a side, to fend off roving aircraft. Chaff launchers and auspex baffles lurked along the flanks and the downswept wings bore various strange missiles and fat warheads Glord didn't recognise. It bore no dorsal Turbolaser, as a Thunderhawk would boast, but it did bear a pair of Heavy Laser Destroyers tucked under its wings, another STC the Amber Vipers had acquired and employed.

Glord summed up his assessment, "It's slower than a Thunderhawk but extremely well-armoured."

Tebes nodded in agreement, "It could fly through a flak storm and barely notice. Shrugging off ordnance that would down a gunship and keep on flying."

Joffel snorted, "Good job too, because I'd wager it handles like a brick."

Yet Larus argued, "With this we may have a chance to penetrate the Necron's outer defences. Plus we know not what special tricks the Cerberii have fitted it with."

Glord eyed his Brothers slyly then declared, "I claim the right to pilot it!"

"What?!" Joffel started, "No I want to fly it!"

Larus snapped, "If anyone is flying it, I am."

Glord grinned slightly as he quipped, "Too late, I claimed the right first. You lot can work the turrets."

Joffel retorted, "You're a gunner, what do you know about flying?"

"Just as much as you do," Glord teased.

Their argument was cut short as Tebes interjected, "May I remind you we have lost Brothers to save, this is a serious mission."

"We know," Joffel sighed, "But at least let us take our minds off the danger ahead."

Glord concurred, "We're contemplating flying this brick into a Necron tomb… allow us a morsel of respite from your solemnity."

Their conversation was interrupted as Berio marched over. The Cerberii seemed vexed as he snapped, "Instead of lounging about chatting you lot could be helping me load."

Everybody stiffened and Joffel retorted, "You speak to us, you disgraced renegade?!"

Berio didn't seem admonished as he snarled, "I speak to whom I will. I don't serve you or the chain of command. I answer only to the Claviger. Be more respectful lest our order decides to select you to join our ranks."

That shut everybody up and Glord swallowed a glut of trepidation as he stammered, "We meant no disrespect."

"Yes you did," Berio growled, "But your scorn is irrelevant, we are already shamed and your tongues are nothing when set against that. Now make yourselves useful or go away and stop distracting me."

Everybody stood straight and made to assist but suddenly Reddam burst in, running into the hanger as fast as he could. The Sergeant seemed in great haste as he yelled, "Make ready to launch!"

Everybody started and Glord cried, "What is it?!"

Reddam replied hastily, "That energy spike we've been monitoring, it's started flashing on and off like a tap-code. It's a signal, a Chapter recognition code!"

"Kazao!" Glord cried in elation, "I knew he'd find a way to call us!"

Reddam was already dashing up the ramp of Doombringer as he snapped, "Don't just stand there, get on board. We may only have minutes to intervene. Move your arses!"

Everybody followed him inside the dropship as the ramp began to whine close and Glord headed towards a ladder leading up to the cockpit. Excitement thrummed through him as he accepted they were about to dive into the heart of the Necrons' defences, braving the teeth of their fire. The odds of success were poor, but he took comfort that this time it would be the Amber Vipers bringing the fight to the enemy. It was good to be on the offensive at last.


	108. Chapter 108

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 108**

Freedom was so close Kazao could almost smell it. The slice of blue sky hovered overhead, tantalising in its pristine blueness. The promise of escape dwelled in that expanse, mixed with the possibility of death. If they reached the top and found rescue waiting then they would live, if nobody had seen their signal then they would die. Either way their confinement in the Dyson Sphere was at an end, none of the Aberrants was willing to be dragged back to that experimental chamber. They would break free or die fighting, there were no other options.

Below them the swirling cloud of blackness rose higher, seeking the sound of their feet. It was accompanied by the clanging echoes of metal feet striking black stone, hundreds of them, possibly thousands. The Aberrants were only one step ahead of their destruction but it was enough to let them dream of reaching the top.

Kazao concentrated on his feet, keeping them pounding on the unyielding stone. His hearts burned from the loses they had endured; the courageous Brothers brought low by Necron fiends. A part of him burned to turn and engage the Xenos, bringing the Emperor's fury upon them as an Astartes should but he resisted the impulse. He was under no delusions that if he stood and fought he would die a meaningless death, barely even irritating the Undying enemy. Withdrawal was the only tactical option but in his hearts he swore he would find a way to return and exact the blood price for the souls of the dead.

The Aberrants turned a corner and began ascending another ramp but were brought up short when a pair of Necron warriors loomed ahead of them. Kazao's hearts leapt into his mouth but his reactions were unmarred and he leapt at the foe, even as they raised their weapons and fired. A surge of green soared over his shoulder and there was a grunt behind him but he had no time to stop and look as he attacked.

He gripped the stolen rifle by the end and swung it like a club, smashing the stock into a silver skull. Metal deformed and the Necron staggered under the weight of the blow but the silver warrior recovered swiftly, the dent in its head smoothing out in moments. Yet in that instant Zasio and Nazrik pounced. The Necron was inundated by frenzied Astartes, their hands stabbing and hacking repeatedly. Zasio's hands blurred as his whipcord arms slammed back and forth as if in a high-speed pict reel. Nazrik's attack was more conventional but he found a weak spot and rammed a surgical knife under the silver jaw, penetrating the brain. The Necron stiffened for an instant and then shimmered before disappearing, vanishing entirely.

Kazao hastily turned to see what was going on with the other one and was amazed to see Torfa straddling its form. His claws and fangs were rending metal, tearing out chunks of metal like a feral mastiff worrying a corpse. His jaws locked in on its throat and he tore out a wedge of metal, leaving its head hanging by a single connection. Again he ripped at the remaining silver threads and the head popped off, rolling away across the floor. Then suddenly Torfa was falling to the ground as the Necron vanished.

Kazao breathed a sigh of relief but then started as he saw Hasak. The giant aberrant had collapsed on the ground, one hand pressed to his side where blood gushed out of a huge hole. The Necron's shot had clipped him, only a glancing blow but enough to tear his side out completely. Larraman cells were clotting fast but Hasak looked pale and shivering as no Astartes should and he gasped, "I die."

Denial flared in Kazao's soul and he ran over, grabbing the giant's arm and heaving him upright as he snapped, "No you're not. Come on."

"Leave me," Hasak rumbled.

But Torfa got under the other arm and hissed, "M' ddn't cm ll ths wy t wtch g dy ut."

With the weight of Hasak borne between them the Aberrants hurried on, racing up the very last ramp. Kazao felt like the shadow of death was on his heels but he dared not look behind, all that he saw was the ramp before him and the blessed expanse of blue above, drawing them onwards. His legs trembled with the weight and his knees sagged but he refused to yield and staggered onto the top of the tower with a gasp of relief.

The black walls fell away and the endless vista of the metal plain was revealed. They had emerged onto a wide circle, ringing a huge hole that looked eerily like the barrel of a gun. The sky above was perfect and there was no sign of Necrons anywhere, they seemed safe for a fleeting moment. Yet what was conspicuously missing was any sign of a rescue craft. No gunships were waiting for them, no drop-pods or orbital lifters, no sign of the Chapter at all. The Aberrants were alone.

Kazao set Hasak down and said, "That's it then."

Nobody argued rescue was coming, they all knew it wasn't, but they greeted death as Astartes should and Zasio declared, "Then we face whatever's coming with weapons in hand."

"For the Chapter and the Emperor," Nazrik affirmed.

Hasak concurred faintly, "Die standing."

"Lts tk sm f da bstds wth ss," Torfa snarled.

It was a bold affirmation but cold air rang with another voice, harsh, metallic and cruel, "How insipid!" Kazao's head shot about as a Necron rose from the interior of the tower. It was standing on a broad disc, that floated without any visible means of propulsion. Its form was superior to the average warrior, far finer and crowned with an elaborate headpiece and in one hand it held a sceptre that glittered with multifaceted refractions of light.

Behind the Necron arose the black cloud and from here Kazao could finally see it was formed of millions of tiny scarabs, each one flying on a cloud of anti-grav distortion and their mandibles glittering evilly with the promise of painful death. The Aberrants formed a circle as the cloud swept around them, hemming them in and cutting off any retreat, yet curiously not attacking.

Kazao sensed the cloud was waiting for the order to attack and faced the Necron saying, "Who are you supposed to be?!"

The Necron lifted its chin and stated, "Protocol requires me to inform you that I am Zathoem, Nemesor to the Phaeron."

"Is that supposed to impress us?" Zasio spat.

"Your approval is irrelevant," Zathoem scoffed, "We care nothing for your opinions, it is merely protocol that your request for the name of your conqueror be answered."

Kazao eyed the cloud of waiting scarabs and ventured, "I don't suppose that protocol of yours says anything about duels to single combat?"

"No," Zathoem denied, "However I am obliged to offer you the chance to return to your pens willingly."

"Do you seriously expect us to comply?" Nazrik spat.

Zathoem floated higher as he crowed, "No, I expect you to die futilely. It matters not though; you have already served my purpose. Imagine, a feral rabble like you managing to penetrate the vault of the Synaptic Annihilator, the Hyktot's most feared weapon. You have embarrassed the Phaeron with this display, and moved me one step closer to replacing him. I thank you, but now I must kill you. "

Kazao waved his club high and barked, "We won't go down easy!"

But Zathoem merely waved a hand and said, "Pathetic."

Kazao felt his rifle quivering as it shimmered, wavering like water before it phased away. One second the Aberrants were holding knives and saws and rifles, the next their hands were empty, the tools of the Necrons returning to their masters leaving them unarmed. Kazao gaped at his empty hands but Torfa let out a feral yell as he leapt straight at the floating Necron howling, "Cld hrts nd fst blds!"

Zathoem watched him coming then almost lazily levelled his sceptre and unleashed a window of fractal distortion. The next second was forever imprinted on Kazao's mind. The window swept over Torfa and he changed. Spacetime unwound around his form, rewriting reality and unleashing endless possibilities. Kazao saw potential timelines birthing in an incredibly compressed space, discarded possible pasts and futures, drawn from the quantum firmament of the universe and made actual by Necron science.

Histories that never were played out before their eyes. Timelines where Torfa had never become an Aberrant, timelines where he marched in amber power armour or purple and gold heraldry. Realities where he had been even more mutated, a twisted thing of tentacle and hundreds of eyes set against universes where humanity had interbred with the Eldar, creating a hybrid race. Multiple realities fought for the right to exist in the same spacetime, struggling for supremacy and Torfa was ripped between them all, the atoms of his body spreading like a drop of oil across the surface of an infinite ocean. The effect only lasted a tenth of a second but when the window snapped closed Torfa was gone, no trace of him remaining.

Jaws fell as Zathoem lifted his sceptre and declared, "You lowly usurpers cannot match the power of a reality-shredder! Now you shall die."

"Attack!" Kazao roared as he bunched his fists and made to leap high.

The cloud drew back and Zathoem swung his arm high to strike but just as combat was about to be joined something strange happened. The scarabs froze, becoming absolutely still and inert, floating in mid-air but unmoving in any way. Zathoem too had frozen, stuck in the pose of his strike, as still as a statue. Nothing moved at all and the Aberrant's charge spluttered out, leaving them staring at the cloud with dumb expressions.

Zasio reached out and touched a floating scarab, which wobbled slightly but did not react, as he breathed, "Did someone forget to mention a special mutation they've been hiding?"

"I don't think this is our doing," Kazao mused as he stared in shock.

Then Hasak lifted his arm and cried, "Brothers come!" All eyes rose and beheld the beautiful glorious sight of Doombringer diving out of the blue sky. Eldritch energies played around the hull of the craft as it broke through the Necron's environmental barriers, plunging towards them at breakneck speed. The nose lifted and anti-grav plates shimmered as it decelerated, coming towards the tower, shedding velocity as fast it was able. Even as it slowed Heavy Bolters swivelled to bear and let rip, sending streams of mass-reactive shells into the black cloud.

Scarabs exploded under the volley, scything red-hot shrapnel across the naked Aberrants but Kazao didn't flinch. He saw the cockpit swelling as the craft closed and was stunned to spy Glord at the controls, his flying simple but direct as he came in to land. Kazao's eyes were filled with the glorious sight of his Chapter Brothers coming to save them, in a charge as glorious as any in the histories of yesteryear. In that moment he would have held the Amber Vipers equal to any Chapter in the galaxy.

Doombringer cleared a landing area and the ramp whined open to reveal Reddam at the top, waving at them shouting, "Don't just stand there, get in!"

Everybody hurried to jump on board and Kazao hissed, "Damn glad to see you Brother-Sergeant."

"Anyone else coming?" Reddam snapped.

"No, we're all that's left," Kazao growled, "How did you freeze them?"

"Brontes did a thing," Reddam admitted.

Kazao's head turned and he beheld the Cadmus-robot standing amid a pile of junk. Both its arms were raised and from its palms were extended mechandrites, buried into the vox-sets in the wall. Kazao could only guess the battle-automaton was transmitting some kind of machine interference, a scrapcode from the Dark Age of Technology, he guessed. Whatever its origin it was effective but he couldn't believe it would last long. Even the long-lost pinnacle of human science paled against the Necron's mastery of technology.

He glanced out the ramp and saw Zathoem still frozen in place and barked, "Shoot that thing, hurry before it recovers." One of Brontes' arms unhooked and came to bear, pointing a huge Fission-blaster at the Necron. A whine of discharge heralded a crackling red blast of energy that struck the Nemesor in the chest and sent him flying off his disc in a tangle of molten limbs. Kazao's back itched with radiation burns but it was worth it to see the Necron tumbling into the shaft of the tower, a hole blown straight through his chest.

Unfortunately the act cost them their jamming signal and the cloud began to move, shimmering like a living thing. It pulled back and then surged forward, sweeping towards Doombringer in a swarm of clicking mandibles. The craft lurched as it rolled back, engines roaring and the ramp closed slowly. Kazao had one last glimpse of the cloud hurtling at them then the ramp slammed shut and he was thrown off his feet as the lifter struggled for speed.

Glord's voice echoed from the cockpit, "Get to the turrets! We've got frakking Necron fighters incoming!"

Reddam leapt for a ladder as he cried, "How many?!"

"I can't count that high!" Glord yelled, "It's a Mars-pattern clusterfrak out there!"

Doombringer lurched in the air as something struck the hull and the Aberrants held onto anything they could as Kazao muttered, "This is about to get interesting."


	109. Chapter 109

**Tales of the Amber Viper Chapter 109**

Doom scythes fell screaming from above, crescent-shaped wings blocking out the light with their bulk. They howled like the souls of the damned, their repulsor drives tearing air apart with piercing shrieks. Armies had collapsed in terror at the noise of their passing, primitive brains wracked by hypersonic assaults of noise that reduced the bravest to quivering tears. Under their flanks hung tesla destructors and Death Rays, weapons that had shattered fortresses and brought down the mightiest of enemies in ages before Mankind had dropped from the trees of Terra.

Glord saw the blizzard of icons in the auspex screen and responded by ramming the throttle wide open. Doombringer roared as the plasma drives ignited, throwing the cumbersome craft into the sky. They left the tower in their wake as he jammed the levers into the red, imploring the Machine Spirit for more speed. In his hands the control stick jumped as stubby control surfaces creaked under the strain of acceleration, yet he held true as he fought for altitude. He was pressing Doombringer to the limit but the distance in the auspex was shrinking, the Necron fighters were faster and far more manoeuvrable, they would overhaul the lumbering craft in under a minute.

From the rear turrets Joffel shouted, "Can't this tub go any faster?!"

Glord snapped irately, "This thing flies like a brick in the atmosphere!"

From the port side turret Reddam called, "Jam them again!"

In the co-pilot's seat Brother Berio was working the operations systems, managing the baffles and weapons arrays with practised skill, and he explained, "The Cadmus-robot is attempting to infiltrate their Binaric processes but is denied system access. The Necrons have a countermeasure to the Scrapcode and locked us out."

"That was bloody fast," Glord growled as he wrestled for more speed.

"We're not dead yet," Reddam barked, "Get ready here they come!"

From behind Necrons struck, the first wave falling upon them with flashes of lightning spitting from under their wings. Glord felt the controls leap in his hands as Doombringer was struck multiple times, the thick armour on the dorsal side gouged by eldritch energies. He rolled and turned, trying to evade the worst but had no idea if he was succeeding. Meanwhile the las-talons thrummed, spitting back at the attackers.

Glord heaved the nose about, wrestling with the ponderous inertia of the dropship and as he did so a Necron ripped past. Glord had a perfect view, the dark hull sweeping forward like a claw and the rear shimmering with dimensional drive energies. The cockpit was completely exposed, leaving the pilot without any form of pressurisation or protection from the freezing wind. But then the Undying Necrons had no requirement for niceties like oxygen or heat.

It flew out of sight in an instant and Glord yelled, "Did we hit anything?!"

Tebes was firing the starboard tas-talon as he shouted, "Auspex is going haywire, they're confounding the Spirits of the targeting arrays."

"Launch chaff!" Glord bellowed.

"I just did," Berio retorted as bursts of glittering particles bloomed around them, "It's having no effect, nor the Auspex baffles, nothing works against Necron technology."

Frantically Joffel snarled, "It's worse than fighting bloody Eldar!"

Yet Reddam bellowed back, "Switch off your targeting arrays and aim manually. Keep firing and fill the sky with las!"

As the turrets blazed Glord rolled the dropship right and he snarled, "I'm lining up for a shot."

"Ready," Berio stated as he gripped the controls of the laser destroyers.

Glord saw flurries of crescent wings fill his view, enemies darting everywhere. He focused on one and set it right before the nose. The fighter jittered in his view but he heaved the stick back and forth as he sought a clean shot. Twin lances of las fire speared from under the wings, shearing straight through a curved flank and sending the foe tumbling away. It spun as it fell, disappearing from view and making Glord's heart soar, but his elation was short-lived as a half-dozen more fell from on high, weapons blazing.

The dropship shuddered as hit after hit carved over its back and Glord threw the controls wildly about as he snarled, "Our armour's thick but we can't last forever."

Calm as ice Berio stated, "Incoming three o'clock high, massive energy spike."

Glord threw the stick left and the nose heaved over, turning them away just as the Necron fired its Death Ray. The collimated energy shot past a hairsbreadth from their hull and plunged into the metal plain below. The weapon was designed to lay low armies and break open city gates and it punched through the floor like it was nothing, and ten levels below that, leaving a gaping hole in the plain that dripped molten metal.

"What was that?!" Glord yelped.

"Unknown," Berio stated, "But we cannot survive one single hit from that weapon."

Glord knew it was true and desperately looked for an escape route but it was too late. Swarms of fighters circled overhead, cutting off the sky and the void beyond. They seemed content to block any escape, denying the Amber Vipers a means of getting free while a score of Necrons darted in and out, picking them apart one shot at a time. The dropship was trapped between the sky and the plain, unable to run or fight. Her hull streamed las-fire but it was only delaying the inevitable, they were done for.

"We're trapped!" Joffel yelled.

"I know that," Glord snarled.

"Keep firing!" Reddam shouted, "Don't stop firing no matter what!"

Then Berio stated, "We've got one on our six, closing fast."

Glord saw only one chance so he heaved the dropship left and pushed the drive to maximum as he flew towards a metal wall. The barrier swelled in his sight, becoming a mountainside that they were flying straight towards. The Auspex chimed as the enemy closed nearer and he growled, "Come on, closer, closer."

"What are you doing?!" Larus shouted from the back.

"Shut up and let me fly," Glord hissed as the wall loomed ever nearer, promising certain death.

For another second they flew on, trailed by enemy fighters and Glord thought they would slam into the wall and die. Yet suddenly the auspex screamed an alert. Before Berio could speak Glord's hand slammed onto the anti-grav controls and cut the power. Doombringer dropped like a stone, losing altitude at the exact moment the Necron fired. Glowing green energy shot over their heads and struck the wall, chewing through it in moments. The exterior wall of the Dyson Sphere was punctured and air howled out of the breach, blown into the cold void of space.

Glord instantly threw the anti-grav back to full power and heaved back on the controls. The dropship's nose rose but slowly, too slowly. The hole was too high for them to reach and their rate of climb was too slow, they were going to hit the wall regardless. Glord gritted his teeth and pulled back hard, standing Doombringer on its end and blasting the plasma drive to maximum in a desperate attempt to avoid death.

"Come on, climb… climb damn you," He snarled through his clenched jaw and watched the hole inching nearer. Each heartbeat stretched out to eternity as he fought the controls and he sweated as he saw the edge of the gap slicing towards them. Closer, so close he couldn't tell if they would make it or not. Then with a second to spare the outrushing air grabbed the dropship and yanked it upwards, granting them two whole precious centimetres of clearance. The slab-like walls flashed by and then they were in open space.

Glord breathed out in relief as he beheld the stars once more, backlight by the blazing corona of the red sun they were hanging over. It lay behind them and Glord hurriedly flicked switches as he declared, "Shutting down aero-systems, engaging void thrusters."

"May the Omnissiah look upon these humble supplicants and grant us the blessing of spaceflight," Berio intonded solemnly as he secured the systems.

There were gasps of relief as Joffel called, "That was too close."

"I thought you were going to kill us," Larus accused.

"So did I," Glord exhaled, "Thankfully the Emperor Protects."

It was a moment of relief, but then Kazao's head rose up a ladder and he cried, "Don't be stupid, they'll never let us go so easily. We're not safe yet!"

Glord's eyes jumped to the Auspex and he saw blizzards of Necron Fighters rising from the Dyson Sphere. They burst from the false sky and soared into the void, their dimensional drives even faster in the vacuum of space than they had been in atmosphere. Glord's jaw fell but his hands returned to the controls and he pushed the dropship to the maximum. In the void it was far more responsive but still totally outmatched by the Necron fighters.

"Frak!" Glord cursed, "Nobody said those mother-loving Grox-fondlers could fly in space!"

"What in the name of sanity made you think they couldn't?!" Kazao snapped.

Glord fought for more speed as they inched out of the Gravity well of the star but one glance told him the Necrons were closing faster than they could fly. Yet suddenly Berio ordered, "Turn our rear to them and fly straight."

"What?!" Glord yelped.

"Do it," Berio commanded.

Glord obeyed instantly and flew away from the Necrons as Berio hit a control. There was a loud clunk as something detached from the right wing and fell behind, coasting on inertia as the dropship thrust away. Glord watched in puzzlement as the object fell behind, shrinking into the distance as they flew on. The Necrons overhauled it in moments, sailing past without pause. Hundreds of them were closing on the Astartes' craft in a hurricane of curved wings, a wave of death that would end them once and for all. Glord saw the Amber Vipers had seconds left to live and that was when the object exploded.

Light, heat, radiation and electro-magnetic hurricanes were born, engulfing the bulk of the Necrons in a nucleonic detonation. Caught in the heart of an explosion that could level a city living metal liquefied and dissolved. Even Those further out suffered, wings deforming and hulls shattering as their systems were overloaded. As one they shimmered and vanished, phasing out to return to their vaults for repair.

The dropship was far away but not distant enough to escape the blast. Glord felt the controls jerk and the nose spun as the rear armour melted, the plasma drives spluttering as they fought to stay functional. His left hand danced as he fed power into them, muttering curses under his breath and his right fought the control stick. After agonising seconds the nose righted and he spat, "What was that?!"

Berio calmly restarted the auspex as he stated, "A little token of Imperial esteem: an Atomonic charge."

"He set off an Atomonic bomb on our arses!" Joffel howled, "You're mad! The Cerberii are mad!"

"Shut up, it worked," Reddam snapped, "Look alive we're not clear yet."

Glord saw more fighters closing, coming in from further afield. Fresh enemies, eager for the kill. Yet Berio ordered, "Head for the nearest hulk." Glord was past asking why and steered for the nearest wreck. Any meaningful distance in the void was measured in tens of thousands of kilometres and Glord sweated every second of the way, sure that the enemy would catch up before they got there.

The hulk swelled into being, some strange conurbation of dead spheres and rods, held together by spindly wires and cables. It looked like a spider's web set adrift in the void, so delicate and frail compared the dense armour covering human spacecraft. Glord had never seen any race that built in this fashion and he could only guess who its makers were and how they sailed the stars. It certainly didn't look robust enough to endure the nightmare of the Warp.

Berio pointed an armoured finger into the heart of the web and said, "Get us right in there. Everybody in the hold, get out if you want to live." Glord glanced at the auspex and saw the Necorns would be here in under a minute but complied, steering them into the maze of shafts and broken cables at a glacial pace. Shorn debris slapped on the hull, leaving wet trails of lubricant, still liquid in the cool void and microscopic debris rattled like rain on a window.

His nose wrinkled but Berio said, "There, right under that cleft plate, turn us about and set us down." Glord was baffled but he did as bid, steering them under the overhang until the battered rear clanged against tangled wreckage. Then Berio hurriedly cut the drives and the Auspex, silencing all signs of life.

Glord floated weightlessly in his restraints and hissed, "Hiding here won't fool them."

"It's not supposed to," Berio stated, "Be quiet."

Glord clamped his mouth shut and waited. A few moments later the wreckage around them heaved, struck from beyond by Necron weapon fire. The whole structure swayed like a leaf in the wind, moving under the impacts of hostile energy blasts. A girder swung down and smacked into the dropship's top, ringing the hull like a bell and Glord felt his hearts leap into his mouth. This pathetic camouflage would never fool the superior technology of the Necrons. This was madness, utter madness.

"Whatever's you're doing you better do it fast," Glord hissed.

"Patience," Berio stated, "Wait for it…"

Suddenly the whole structure leapt as something big smashed into it and Berio hit a series of controls saying, "Sealing hold, opening bay door."

Doombringer rocked back into the wall as the ramp opened, spraying atmosphere into the void. The evacuating air took the piled metal in the hold with it and the bodies stored within. Tangled plasteel and ceramite mixed with cleaved body parts and frozen limbs spilled into the void, spreading out in a diffuse cloud. The debris mixed with the spinning web of alien architecture, bouncing off shattered spars and knocked further out into space.

"That's your plan?" Glord breathed, "I don't know whether to laugh or cry."

Berio affirmed, "It should look like we broke up under their fire, there's enough debris to fool them."

Glord squinted as he said, "Those are Astartes bodies, you dumped honoured Brother's remains as a decoy!"

"It had to look realistic," Berio sniffed, "Now we wait."

Glord bit down on an insult and muttered, "This will never work."

Yet from outside the cockpit Kazao interjected, "Actually it might, the common Necrons don't seem too smart. It's only the lords who showed intelligence. If those pilots are common rank and file, then they might be fooled."

Joffel added, "If it looks stupid but it works, it isn't stupid."

Glord sank down in his seat and sighed, "No Auspex… I guess we wait as long our air allows. Then shuffle out to have a look to see if they're gone."

With that Doombringer went dark, waiting for the Necrons to pass over and trusting that their ruse would work. Only time would tell if the Undying had been fooled, until that moment came to pass all they could do was wait.


	110. Chapter 110

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 110**

Mathep was not satisfied. It was a troubling prospect for any Necron, the nagging understanding that his expectations had not been met. He had laid out the parameters of how events would unfold but reality had produced novel variables, throwing off his projections. Among living beings such a state would produce an emotional response, anger, frustration and rage, but for the Phaeron it merely redoubled his resolve to achieve his aims. He had not ruled the Hyktot for an eternity by allowing setbacks to deter him, he would adapt his strategies and intensify his efforts, it was inevitable. He would also punish those responsible for the errors, that was inevitable too.

The Phaeron turned to his advisors and commanded, "Tell me how they evaded our defences."

Inotep was incapable of facial expressions but his feet shifted a degree, indicating a reluctance to speak, yet he obeyed, "A lone transorbital vehicle intercepted the escapees and retrieved them. They were projecting a malicious info-cipher into our operating systems, it blinded us momentarily and allowed them to approach unobserved."

Mathep's grip tightened on his Chronostave as he barked, "How could lowly Usurpers affect our superior science?!"

Inotep shuffled slightly as he said, "The cipher was fluidic in nature, rewriting itself at a rate no organic mind can match. I suspect the involvement of a synthetic consciousness. But I must reiterate the interference was brief, we overcame its effects and blocked it. The prisoners did not escape, their craft was destroyed as it fled."

"So You suspect," Mathep hissed, "I am not convinced."

Tamunn stiffened at the rebuke and asked, "You think they escaped?"

"I have learned not to underestimate this breed's resourcefulness," Mathep stated, "Irritating vermin that they are, they have proved capable of brief resistance to our might."

The pair fell silent as Mathep turned his back on them and began pacing back and forth across his throne room. The same chamber where he had awoken, unchanged in the slightest degree. His small pyramid loomed over the space and the blank walls gleamed with reflected green light. His array of warriors and Immortals stood in precise rows, unmoved since he had awoken. Not a single one of them would so much as twitch without this order. There was not enough of their minds left to act on their own initiative.

Mathep spoke aloud, "Zathoem was expected to either succeed and bring them back alive or fail and be disgraced. In no projection were the prisoners predicted to receive reinforcements, and not ever was it foreseen that they would reach the Synaptic Annihilator."

Inotep interjected, "Dread Lord, they inflicted no damage to the weapon. The preparations continue apace…"

But Mathep spun about and barked, "The Synaptic Annihilator! My dynasty's most precious asset. We are not talking about some lowly warrior form or a vehicle. That weapon is unique, the time and labour spent on its fashioning consumed three generations of Necrontyr. Prized beyond measure, even awakening it demands staggering resources and exacting calculation. If it is damaged I will reduce you to atoms."

Inotep cowered but then Tamunn interjected, "Dread Lord, the weapon was not damaged and Zathoem's disgrace is complete. Your most dangerous rival is laid low."

Mathep paused then and said, "My Loyal Lychguard, you speak wisely as ever. Yes, some of my preliminary objectives have been completed; I shall take that as progress. As for the rest…"

He waved his arm and the floor oozed upwards, forming a flattened mirror. The surface rippled for a moment then became a projection of Antari's laboritorum. The Cryptek was hunched over a decaying body, one of the prisoner's remains laid out on a slab. The projection was perfect, without wavering lines or unfocused edges. Antari could have been in the room with them.

The Cryptek laid down a tool and said, "For what reason do you interrupt me?"

Only the Cryptek could be so brusque and Mathep replied, "I require information."

Antari gestured at the corpse and said, "I close upon the secrets I require. I would progress faster had more subjects been returned to me."

"Rest assured you shall have subjects beyond counting when we lay waste to the galaxy," Mathep soothed, "But I need to speak to your spy."

Antari paused then and looked aside, before waving another figure into the field. The animal Schwift looked restored thanks to the Necron science but his expression was worried. He had good reason to be, never had he been kept for so long by his masters, normally he was sent straight back to the stars to bring them more subjects. His apprehension was evident as he wrung his hands and said, "You want somethin'?"

Mathep looked upon the wretch and commanded, "You shall tell me what the Usurpers shall do next."

Schwift swallowed and then said, "I dunno, those are Space Marines we're talking about. They ain't known for running away, all the legends are about heroic charges and stubborn last stands. They won't let this pass, it's not how Imperials think. Yeah, that's it. They'll come at you all guns blazing, shouting stupid things about victory or death.

Mathep hissed, "If you play me false I shall inflict torments upon you that shall make you long for death."

But Schwift raised his hands and said, "I wouldn't lie to you. I wanna live, live forever. Those Space Marines will come, its how they think, see. Don't understand that attitude myself but its always worked for them before."

Mathep glared for a moment then cut the link, letting the pedestal dissolve back into the floor as he said, "It fits the established pattern. The Usurpers shall come at us again, only this time we shall be ready. This shall not be a repeat of the last invasion."

Tamunn's head tilted as he queried, "Dread Lord?"

Mathep glanced at him and said, "Of course, it must shame you. To think that a Usurper defeated you. It was an unexpected display, fighting without weapons or tools. With his bare hands the leader of their forces broke your guard, his fists moving so fast they blurred even to our perceptions. I recall how he ripped one of your arms off and stove in your chest, before tearing your head off."

Tamunn said, "I do not…"

"I do not blame you," Mathep assured him, "I may have, had I not faced that one myself. The Dyson Sphere aflame with their crude weapons, the ground shaking from violent explosions as their primitive tanks duelled with our Monoliths. They were dying in droves yet they would not break. I recall how he came at me, armour shining and fists blurring. He laid his hands upon me, a lowly usurper daring to touch my body. Yet it was a dazzling display of martial prowess, to deny that would be the act of a bruised ego. One hundred and fifty punches he landed… one hundred and fifty! I was almost overwhelmed by his onslaught, before I calculated the pattern of his attack and broke his arm. I followed up with a blow that shattered his helmet but he in turn went for my heart, thinking to rip it out. I held him at bay but then he headbutted me, cracking my metal face with his simple bones. A remarkable feat, but he failed to end me. One sweep of my Chronostave and he was dust, less than dust. A most brusque conclusion, one that still disagrees with me. My victory was never in doubt but he robbed me of any satisfaction in the deed. Yet he almost matched me and I shall never forget that."

Tamunn was silent for a long moment then whispered, "I… I have no memories of that encounter."

The Phaeron stared at his Lychgaurd and hissed, "None?!"

Tamunn shook his head and said, "I remember the Usurper invasion, their amber armour gleaming and crude tanks grinding along followed by millions of lesser animals… then nothing. There is a hole in my mind."

Mathep was taken aback and said, "Surely you remember the duel."

Yet Tamunn whispered, "No, the memories are absent."

Mathep was still for a moment then scoffed, "You were damaged and phasing out. The memory engrams never formed in your mind. It is of no concern, do not dwell on the matter."

Tamunn nodded, "Thank you, Dread Lord."

"Let us turn to other matters," Mathep stated, "Go bring me Zathoem."

The Lychguard bowed and then strode out of the throne room, head held high. The pair watched him go and when he was out of earshot Inotep spat, "He is starting to forget… that is always the first sign."

"Neural decay," Mathep concurred, "I thought Tamunn was above such things, as are we."

Inotep shook his head and said, "None are free of the danger. First we start to forget: names, places, events and faces. Then comes the madness, slowly and stealthily, erratic behaviours becoming more severe until we devolve into Destroyers and Flayed Ones. Finally the loss of identity and purpose, reduced to mindless husks like a common warrior."

Mathep's hands clenched as he said, "Our minds are all that is left of us, to lose that... No, I shall not suffer such a fate, I won't allow it. We must redouble our efforts to return to the flesh. We must live again, while there is enough of us left to make the transfer."

Inotep nodded, "Yes Dread Lord… but first your Nemesor must be dealt with."

It was then that Tamunn returned, dragging Zathoem behind him. The Nemesor was cowering, shuffling long in chains cast of living metal. His gait was deflated, his head low and his chest was bubbling, where his form struggled to rebuild itself. Whatever weapon was employed to inflict such a wound must have been potent indeed if the Living metal had not yet erased the marks.

The Lychguard threw Zathoem at Mathep's feet and the Phaeron hissed, "You dare return to me in failure!"

Zathoem looked up from the floor and pleaded, "Dread Lord…"

Mathep held up a hand and said, "Spare me your clever lies and excuses. We both know how this ends, with your head being separated from your neck."

Zathoem was silent for a moment then determined the truth of that statement and threw caution aside as he snapped, "So be it, but know that your vassals despise you. You are a fool and a tyrant, just one more mad Phaeron chasing insane dreams. You hold yourself better than your peers because you remember what it was to live, but they laugh at you. All the other Dynasties sneer at the Hyktot."

Mathep declared, "I care not for their opinions, with the Synaptic Annihilator I shall conquer the galaxy. Fleets and armies and worlds shall fall before my power and I shall drag the secrets of the mut-ants from their cold corpses. The Necrontyr shall live again!"

Zathoem hissed, "Your reign will fall before you take a single breath. Your vassals' plot even now to remove you!"

"They shall plot no more when they behold your fate," Mathep crowed, "Tamunn…"

The Lychguard's axe blurred and the Nemesor's head was cleaved off. The body collapsed and lay still, the light fading from the eyes. After a moment it phased out, returning to the distant Tomb world it had been fashioned in. Yet Mathep wasn't finished. He turned to his pyramid and strode up the steps, coming to stand before the upright coffin set atop it. Within that coffin was a warrior form, not a special lord or honoured Cryptek but a common soldier, indistinguishable from any other.

The body quivered slightly then the eyes glowed faintly and voice issued forth, "What's happening?!"

Mathep looked down on the soldier and said, "Zathoem, welcome to your new body."

The warrior was still and unmoving but the voice issued, "What have you done?!"

Mathep explained, "I intercepted your memory engrams and locked your mind into this lowly body. I am afraid there shall be no more careful memory retrievals for you, no more quantum buffers and triple-reinforced neural caches. From now on you live and resurrect as a common soldier."

"Why can't I move?" Zathoem hissed.

"Because I haven't ordered you too," Mathep stated, "Your obedience protocols are suborned to my commands."

"Why did you do this?!" Zathoem hissed.

"Because I no longer care why I kept you alive," Mathep explained, "As a living being your jealousy fed my ego. As an undying Necron protocol protected you. No longer, now the Overlords shall see your fate and grow cautious. They shall see your intellect falling apart neuron by neuron, your mind decaying as did all our lowest servant's. I shall be closely monitoring your decay and I find myself curious as to how long your mind can endure in so crude a body. How many millennia you can last. It does not matter though, sooner or later your memories shall be gone and your identity with them. The being known as Zathoem shall be no more, this is as close to death as you shall ever get."

"No..." Zathoem screamed, "No, no, no. You can't do this to me!"

"Go join your new comrades," Mathep commanded, "Like the commoner you are."

The warrior body took up a Gauss rifle and marched away, heading down the steps to join the ranks of silent soldiers below. It would have no one to speak to or interact with, it would stand still for millennia until Mathep gave it another order. No mind could endure such loneliness for eternity, not even a Necron and the torment it would suffer would be all-consuming. Zathoem's mind would fall apart and the Phaeron would find satisfaction in watching it happen.

The Phaeron left Zathoem to his doom and lifted his head to declare, "One problem is dealt with, now we attend to the next. Ready my armies for war and unlock our arsenals. The Usurpers will come and we shall obliterate them utterly. It will be a good way to begin our conquest of the galaxy."


	111. Chapter 111

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 111**

Coluber frowned as he examined reports in a flickering pict-screen, lines of data and detailed battlefield scans of the Dyson Sphere playing out before his eyes. He absorbed the information with eager interest, devouring every morsel of data like a drunk would a bottle of rotgut. He replayed the data several times, magnifying scans and examining each aspect in microscopic detail. His mind was a sculpted gene-engine of war, creating and discarding stratagems in moments. He compared the battlefield to thousands of previous engagements, rejecting certain possibilities and honing others. The assault played out in his mind a thousand times and each one ended in miserable failure, but he continually improved his plans and finally he saw the way.

Coluber straightened up and cricked his neck as his certainty grew. He breathed in deeply and looked about. He was in the command centre of the Serpens Rex, or 'Nest' as his Brothers had taken to calling it. The beautiful space was filled with activity, Chattels tending to the stations and servitors chattering as they joined with the Starfort's Machine Spirit. For days they had been labouring to reawaken the engines, allowing the base to move through realspace and from their excitement they were close to success.

Near to the raised platform he was standing on a different kind of activity was taking place. The looming form of Maru Kysoto casting a long shadow. The Librarian-Dreadnought was magnificent in form and fit into the beautiful décor like he belonged here, yet his attitude radiated disapproval. This had been his home before any current Amber Vipers had been born and he did not endorse the foreign occupation of his abode. Many had stood in awe as he strode past, none of the younger Brothers ever having seen a Dreadnought before let alone a Psychic one, but Maru had shown no interest in communication.

Yet two souls had drawn his eye. Brother-Exemplars Vardat and Seyda were drilling before him, swinging their Burst-lances in dazzling sweeps of light. Their hands blurred as they spun their weapons around their bodies, the air thrumming like the chop of a propeller as they wove intricate webs of defence and deception. Coluber was impressed by the grace and skill of their drill, the way it drew the eye into misleading feints and subtle deceptions and the way they got faster with every repetition. They concluded with a sudden low sweep at knee-height, one that would have dismembered any foe who had dared to challenge them. Maru watched keenly, then offered critiques and ordered them to repeat the exercise.

Coluber descended the steps as they repeated the exercise and came to stand alongside three Brothers. There was Ferrac, who was glowering at the Dreadnought with undisguised apathy. Then there was Kregulf, the Claviger of the Cerberii whom Coluber had ordered to attend. The order of the Cerberii hadn't met with Maru's approval either, the ancient warrior-philosopher seemed to find the very concept of them distasteful. Finally there was Apothecary Shrios, who had only just returned from his expedition to the most derelict parts of the Nest, looking for the Main Apothecarion. From the look on his unhelmed face he did not bring good news.

They were watching the Librarian-Dreadnought in various poses of sullen resentment and suspicion and Shrios asked, "Where did this one come from?"

Coluber crossed his arms and stated, "He has always been here, waiting to be discovered."

Ferrac muttered, "Shame he didn't stay lost."

Shrios looked at him and asked, "You don't approve, what happened between you?"

Ferrac muttered, "He made me take tanna with a little girl."

"Gnaph," Shiros snorted in mirth, "That's rich!"

"It's not funny," Ferrac snarled.

"It's a bit funny," Shrios needled.

Kregulf interjected, "This is no laughing matter, he killed five of our snakelet-scouts and we let him walk among us without exacting vengeance."

Shrios looked at him and asked, "What did he say to piss you off?"

Kregulf answered, "He told me in his age a disgraced warrior would be sent on a death-quest. Not a mission of redemption but a form of ritual suicide, given a mission and expected to die in its completion. Victory and death."

Coluber shook his head and said, "We aren't going to start doing that, but we shall adopt the best parts of the original Amber Viper's lore and artefacts. Speaking of which, what did you find Shrios?"

The Apothecary sighed, "Disappointment, the Apothecarions are smashed and the gene-seed vault had a crack you could put your fist through. The progenoids had withered to dust, there was nothing to salvage."

Ferrac sniffed, "Then we'll keep using our own stockpiles. Even if we have to put up with a few aberrants."

Their conversation was interrupted as Maru declared, "You must keep your elbow in perfect alignment. Drop your right shoulder and try again."

The Brother-Exemplars repeated the exercise and Coluber lifted his voice to ask, "You are teaching them your ancient fighting styles?"

Maru's sensor-dome turned slightly as he said, "Kusanagi: the Grass-cutting kata. Tis the first style of spear fighting, as taught in our schools of combat."

Shrios sniffed, "You're only teaching them one move, why not show them a few more?"

Maru however refuted, "They must master the first step before taking the second."

"Rather limited," Ferrac snorted.

But Maru stated, "It is written: I fear not the man who has practised ten thousand strokes, but I fear the man who has practised one stroke ten thousand times."

Coluber queried, "Could you teach Primus Cohort some styles?"

"Some of you may prove worthy of my teachings," Maru allowed, "But it requires skill, dedication, focus and humility. Few in your ranks have such grace and we had no schools that taught combat-katas for chainweapons. They are the cudgels of uncouth barbarians, only a feral mastiff would touch so undignified a weapon."

Ferrac snorted, "Are you calling me a rabid dog?"

"The truth is self-evident, for those with eyes to see," Maru scoffed.

"I don't have to listen to these insults," Ferrac growled.

"Then go back to your kennel," Maru replied.

Ferrac's hand gripped his axe-rake as he snarled, "I should rip you out of that tin can and piss on your bones!"

"You are vulgar," Maru snapped.

"Screw you!" Ferrac snarled.

"Cease this at once!" Coluber bellowed, "You are under my command and I will not have us at each other's throats. Keep civil tongues in your heads."

Ferrac grimaced but said, "As you will."

Maru only said, "I will abide, so long as you keep your promise to me."

Coluber nodded, "Vengeance is close, the Peregrine has docked and Sergeant Reddam's rescue party are on the way. In fact, here they come."

From the far end of the command centre strode a gaggle of Astartes. At their head was Sergeant Reddam, followed by his squad, the rescued Aberrants. Berio was absent, returning to his order with the Cadmus-robot. The drills ended as the party marched up to their master in a jubilant mood but pulled up short when they spied the looming bulk of Maru Kysoto and Brother Glord cried, "Holy Frakking throne!"

Coluber enjoyed the looks of stupefaction on their faces and said, "Welcome Brothers, I congratulate you on your successful mission. As you can see we too have been busy. May I present our new Chief Librarian: Maru Kysoto."

"He's…" Joffel gaped, "He's…"

Maru merely stepped closer to them and looked over the Aberrants, who wore helmets and helms and wrappings to disguise their mutations once more, and he said, "Twisted rejects, you risk your own blood for these?"

"They are our Brothers and they fight for the Emperor," Coluber stated, "We shall not deny them worthy deaths. Now to business… Reddam I read your vox-reports and I have devised a strategy."

Reddam kept glancing up at the towering Dreadnought but said, "I'm not sure what you're planning but I doubt it will have much effect. The Dyson Sphere is vast and well-defended, we scanned it thoroughly and found no weak points. Any assault is doomed to fail."

"Not necessarily," Coluber argued, "I agree destroying the Necrons is beyond us, but we can hurt them. We can make them suffer and bleed. I have accessed the reports and determined the primary objective will be to destroy the super-weapon you encountered."

Maru's waist rumbled around threateningly and he hissed, "You aim to blow up a gun? This is not the vengeance you promised me."

Coluber argued, "You yourself said it destroyed the Ghost Crusade's fleet, that weapon is a threat we cannot ignore. Its destruction must take priority."

Maru's voice lowered a notch as he growled, "If you seek to deceive me…"

Yet another voice interjected, Kazao the aberrant, who argued, "With respect, do not underestimate the value of that target, the Synaptic Annihilator they called it. We saw their preparations first-hand, we saw what it cost the Necrons to awaken it. They were shipping in resources at a terrifying rate, trains in endless array delivering stores every minute. The Necrons seem able to rebuild anything in moments… but that weapon was something else. I can't imagine they have more than a handful of them, it may even be unique. It's value to them cannot be overstated. Destroying that target will hurt the Necrons, They will feel its loss most keenly."

"So we have a target," Ferrac muttered, "How do we take it on. A full-frontal assault with every Brother we have?"

Heads nodded but Reddam countered, "I doubt that will work, they know we saw the weapon. They'd be fools not to be ringing it with armies. I doubt we could even approach that site, no matter how many of us there are."

Coluber nodded, "As I strategized, besides open assaults are not our way. We shall land far away and draw their forces to us, distracting them with a set-piece battle. While they are engaged one squad will sneak in through the lower levels and deploy our most devastating weapons."

"My squad volunteers!" Reddam declared boldly.

Coluber grinned, "I thought you'd say that. Very well, your speed with serve better than any others. Kregulf shall arm you with his most deadly arms and while I draw their attention you shall stab them in the back."

Heads nodded in approval but then Kregulf growled, "That is not your decision to make."

"What?!" Coluber yelped in surprise.

Kregulf crossed his arms and stated, "The Gate of Perdition does not open at your order, you yourself decreed it so. Only I may judge if an enemy warrants total destruction, only I can determine if the danger justifies letting my charges loose."

Coluber's jaw dropped, he hadn't factored this into his strategies and his head reeled as he cried, "You can't mean…"

"I shall not open that door simply because you order it," Kregulf snapped.

Ferrac growled, "You treacherous cur, I knew I should have cut off your head when you turned on the Chapter."

Yet Kregulf was not admonished and declared, "I would see this Chapter burn to the ground before I let my charges run wild. They are too vile and too dishonourable to unleash against any common foe. Only a threat to the Imperium Entire can stir the Cerberii to war and that judgement is mine alone to make… and I judge these Necrons are indeed such a threat. They imperil the rule of the Emperor and challenge Mankind's manifest destiny to rule the stars; such a danger cannot go unchecked. The Gates of Perdition shall open and the tainted weapons be brought forth, but not because you order it. I do this as my duty to the Emperor and Mankind, not at your whim."

Coluber breathed out in relief and said, "Very good, your commitment to your oath is commendable."

Yet Maru seemed unconvinced as he said, "I unleashed an Exterminatus on that Dyson Sphere and it did nothing. What kind of weapons could you possibly own that would trouble them?"

Kregulf replied frankly, "The worst kind, not nearly so conventional and direct as virus bombs or cyclonic torpedoes. My charges are weapons designed not to kill but inflict suffering, the creations of a sadist and torturer. The Eye of Discord shall be our weapon of choice; its nature is a crime against reality itself."

From the squad Glord muttered sarcastically, "That sounds a safe thing to be strapping to our bikes."

Kregulf nodded, "Berio shall remain with you and you shall have some of our lesser tools to aid you. The Necrons will not be stopped by bolters alone."

Coluber was glad to hear it and declared, "This then is the plan, our fighting strength will deploy to the Sphere and draw out the Necrons in force. While they are distracted, Reddam shall sneak below the surface and plant our weapon under the Synaptic Annihilator. When it is done we shall withdraw with haste and leave the Necrons to burn."

Maru interjected, "One should not make plans to live when marching to war, you should never seek battle if you are not prepared to die."

Yet Coluber argued, "I plan to win, not commit suicide. Our deaths may be likely but I do not intend to fall so easily."

"Oh, we'll die," Ferrac muttered, "Three hundred Astartes against everything the Necrons have, I'll be amazed if any of us come back."

Shrios interjected, "We should make plans to secure our legacy."

"That is prudent," Coluber allowed, "Transfer the Gene-seed stockpile from the Wyvern to the Serpens Rex, the Chattels shall remain here and steer the Nest back to the warp-gate. When we engage the Necrons they should have a chance to make a run for it and get back to the Milky Way."

Maru sniffed in disapproval but Coluber's orders were set. All faces were grim but it was Ferrac who said, "This plan still revolves around three hundred Astartes facing the combined might of the Necrons. We haven't the numbers to hold them off for long. It would take an army to hold them at bay."

Yet Coluber grinned at him and said, "An army? Ferrac, it would take more than that to even slow the Necrons down. Yet thankfully, I happen to know where we can find an entire Crusade, waiting patiently in stasis. The Necrons made a mistake when they captured the sons of the Imperium instead of killing them. The Ghost Crusade shall march to war once more and bring the wrath of the Emperor to the undying!"


	112. Chapter 112

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 112**

The primary workshop of the Wyvern bustled industriously. Tools whined and sparking welders were applied with diligent care to delicate systems. Teams of lay-preachers marched, swinging silver thuribles that oozed thick smoke as Binaric psalms were recited. Cyber-Cherubs floated above and shrieked when they spied a mortal accidentally dropping a spanner. Instantly his Overdeacon dispatched him to the penance chambers for shriving and flagellation, ordering him not to return until he could show proper respect to the Cult Technis.

Glord watched from the sidelines as the Chattels worked. The focus of their labour was the squad's bikes, joined by another example of their model. Unlike civilian marks these machines were built for war. They were heavy and robust, low-slung with armoured farings and tires as broad as a man's chest. Built to take a battering, they could grind a mortal to shreds under their wheels and barely notice. They were worthy steeds for an Astartes, each warrior forming a sacred bond with his machine and together bringing woe to the enemies of man. So it was deeply distressing to see them being altered.

Glord clenched his jaw and hissed, "This seems wrong."

Larus concurred, "To be changing the nature of the Machine is a troubling prospect. It veers dangerously close to innovation."

Joffel however sniffed, "I don't see what the problem is, the Chapter does this all the time."

"We do not!" Larus spat.

But Joffel scoffed, "What is Doombringer if not flagrant innovation?"

Glord muttered, "But the difference is, this time it's our steeds that are being interfered with."

Kazao's voice was muffled by his customary helmet as he said, "This strikes too close to home for me."

Their debate was cut short as Sergeant Reddam proclaimed, "This has to be done, bolters will not stop the Necrons. If we are to reach our objective then we must have better armaments."

Glord eyed the Sergeant and commented, "You seem awfully sanguine about this."

Reddam sniffed, "I've had to swallow many compromises in my time."

"Compromises like me?" Kazao asked.

"Yes," stated Reddam with brutal honesty.

Everyone was discomforted and Glord hurriedly asked, "How are the other Aberrants?"

Kazao shrugged, "I don't know, we went back to our own squads. We're not an order or a fraternity, we stay away from each other as much as possible. Zasio and Nazrik can barely stand to be around each other and Hasak is unflappable as ever."

Glord chewed his lip in hesitation and then said, "What does everyone make of our new Librarian-Dreadnought?"

Larus asserted, "He will be a powerful asset."

Tebes concurred, "Such a mighty relic can only strengthen the Chapter."

Yet Joffel mused, "I don't know… he didn't seem too impressed with us. I get a distinct feeling he disapproves of our way of doing things."

Glord said, "He's been sitting in stasis for millennia, he must adapt to the state of the galaxy. We've had to make a lot of hard choices, a lot of shady deals. He must accept we do these things to survive."

Redam however lifted his head and said, "It is not he who needs to rethink his ways, it is us. He is an example of who we should be. You callow youths have never seen the glory of a Chapter in its full splendour, the dedication and disciplined of a proper Astartes. You do not understand how far we fall below the mark expected of a Space Marine."

Glord stiffened at the rebuke and said, "We are few in number but one-to-one we could beat any of those stiff-necked peacocks."

Reddam snorted, "You dream, a properly trained Space Marine would take any of you apart with one hand tied behind his back. Why else do you think we have scrupulously avoided encounters with Traitor Marines; none of you is ready to face a foe of that calibre."

Everybody bristled at the insult and Glord protested, "I think differently."

Reddam snapped, "Your opinion is irrelevant, only obedience matters."

Silence fell but Glord eyed his Sergeant and reflected the encounter with Maru Kysoto seemed to have effected Reddam. Perhaps it was the reminder of his past, of the discipline Reddam had once known, or maybe he had seen a standard to live up to. Either way Reddam seemed to have shoved a stick up his arse, Glord reckoned. If this was what the Amber Vipers were going to become he wasn't sure the younger Brothers were going to be too keen.

Thankfully there was a great cry from the gathered Chattels. A looming figure stepped from their ranks, Berio the Cerberii, and he waved the squad nearer. As they closed Glord got a good look at their bikes. The bikes gleamed with blessed unguents and purity seals had been affixed to the exhausts, but these were only appeasements to soothe the changes made to their frames. The front cowlings had been changed out for custom fittings, into which new armaments had been fixed. Gone were the twin-linker bolters, now they were armed with the sinister weight of Fission-Blasters, the over-under charging coils glowing with a wicked red light.

Glord's attack bike had been further changed. In place of his lost Heavy Bolter was a larger mark of Fission-blaster, a doughty cannon identical to those wielded by the Cadmus-robots. Glord hesitated at the sight of an unfamiliar weapon but worse was yet to come. Behind his seat was a cage, within which hung a glassic sphere. Contained within that sphere was a series of intricate rings, set within each other and spinning eternally, each revolving around a different axis to create a bewildering array of dancing lines. Glord couldn't count their number, they seemed to shrink endlessly and looking at the ever-smaller rings made his eyes water and the feeling crept over him that he was falling into an infinitely deep well.

Berio declared boldly, "The alterations are complete."

Glord stared at the cannons and spat, "You can't expect us to use these."

Yet Reddam rebuked, "Nothing else will work on the Necrons, they've proven vulnerable to rad-weapons."

"Vulnerable?" Tebes probed.

"Well… less immune," Reddam allowed.

Berio waved to them closer and said, "I shall be accompanying you on my own bike. Examine these weapons, learn their characteristics. See the thermal vents here, you can fire repeatedly but the risk of overload increases as you demand more. Learn to pick your shots, you can't fire wildly and pray to hit something, these aren't stubbers."

Glord leaned down and peered at the odd sphere clamped to the back of his seat asking, "Is this the bomb?"

"Don't get too close to that!" Berio snapped, "The Eye of Discord is not to be trifled with."

Glord hastily stepped back but Joffel asked, "What does it do?"

"We're not sure," Berio confessed, "The records speak of a powerful detonation, irresistible forces that cannot be denied. It was intended to rip worlds apart, leaving only tears and ash behind."

Larus frowned as he queried, "If it's that powerful why don't we just fly overhead in Doombringer and drop it on them?"

Reddam however explained, "Necron technology is disturbingly advanced, they may have some form of shielding around the target that can stop even this. No, sneaking in and planting it by hand is our only option."

Tebes rubbed his jaw and asked, "How do we trigger it?"

Berio explained, "Simply break the glassic casing."

Glord swallowed as he wondered, "So… if a stray shot hits it while its ten centimetres from my back."

"We all die horribly," Berio stated flatly.

Glord gulped in concern but Kazao was poking a Fission-Blaster warily and remarked, "You do know these vile things spew radiation with every shot. We'll all be irradiated long before we reach the target."

Reddam and Berio looked at each other and then the Sergeant said, "Yes, we had considered that. Which is why we've been granted a special dispensation."

Glord frowned in confusion but then from behind them came a scuffle. All eyes turned to the entrance to the workshop, where a line of Chattels was marching in. They sang a litany of Binaric praises and in their hands were screws and drills, yet that was nothing compared to what they bore on their shoulders. In a long line came six biers, each one bearing a suit of battle-plate. Six power armours, laying cold and inert. Their ceramite was freshly daubed in amber, the paint still glistening, but they radiated strength and endurance from every inch of their forms.

Glord's jaw dropped as he gasped, "Power armour?! We are to be blessed with power armour!"

Larus breathed, "But… I thought the Chapter had no more to spare."

Reddam explained, "Nathanal had some spare parts left over after we divided up the spoils of Athelling. Plus he scoured the Serpen's Rex's armouries and found some derelict suits left in pieces, awaiting an artisan's touch. Between them there was enough to cobble together six suits. Mark V, mismatched parts of differing ages and models, but they shall serve."

Glord reached out a hand and felt the cool ceramite under his hand and a sensation of awe crept over him. He had dreamt of donning power armour since his first moment in the Chapter, they all had, but to actually experience it under his fingers was wonderous. A Space Marine without his armour was only half complete, less than he should be and unable to reach his full potential. Glord suddenly felt like he had been missing something his entire life, though he had never realised it and he ached to don a suit.

Reddam was shrugging off his tunic as he said, "I'll go first. Watch closely, and memorise the ritual phrases. I mean it, donning your armour forges a sacred union between warrior and machine. Your armour is your life and it is your duty to maintain it, you must treasure your plate more than your own blood. Show it the utmost respect and devotion in all things and it shall serve you well."

Glord watched in awe as the Chattels fitted a fibre-bundle undersheath, covering him from his toes to his neck, fixed with exoskeletal joints and connections. Then Ceramite outer layers, fitted perfectly to the exoskeleton and forming an all-encompassing suit around Reddam. At each stage ritual phrases were exchanged, words from antiquity ringing forth. In minutes Reddam was clad completely in amber Ceramite, a helm fitted over his skull and a generator attached. Then a purity seal was affixed to his breast and he stepped forward with a growl of powered joints.

"I'm next!" Glord shouted as he dashed forward. The Chattels brought forward the next suit and repeated the procedure. Glord felt the undersheath being pulled over his limbs and for the first time connections slotted home in his implant sockets, binding the armour to his nervous system. Strange impulses ran through him and his mind was no longer alone in his skull. The armour was becoming a part of him, as much as his skin and bones. Its spirit touched his mind and he felt its bellicosity, its stubbornness and its fierce need for action. No wonder Space Marines were famously aggressive, he thought.

The first stage completed the Ceramite outer layer was attached piece by piece and a Chattel with a voice as dry as a tomb intoned, "Trust in your armour and it will protect you."

Repeating the Sergeant's words Glord recited, "I shall repay it with my blood, sweat and tears."

More plates were affixed as the Chattel intoned, "Honour the craft of war."

"I shall become an Angel of Death," Glord declared.

Thick pauldrons were set over his shoulders as the chant continued, "Revere the gear of the lost."

"Death holds no fear, we ask only to serve," Glord affirmed.

A helm fell over his head as the chant finished, "Whom do you serve?"

"I serve the Emperor," Glord avowed.

Suddenly the autosenses sprang into life and Glord's eyes were inundated with information. Targeting icons blazed before him, mixed with signal inputs from his armour, vox-channel options, environmental readings and bio-readings from other suits. He could barely see and when he tried to look at a Chattel the autosenses highlighted his weak points and critical vulnerabilities.

Glord tried to take a step but he overcompensated for the motion and stumbled forward, tripping over his own feet. Strong arms caught him and Reddam said, "Steady, don't try to alter your walk. The armour is meant to move freely, walk normally and it will be with you."

Glord steadied himself and was amazed how deep his own voice sounded as he said, "How can you see anything?"

Reddam sniffed, "You get used to it, soon you won't even notice the icons."

"What's it like?" Kazao asked.

"Strange," Glord said with a shrug, "OW!"

"Oh yes," Reddam sniffed, "Watch out for the auto-pauldrons, they shift position to fit. Best not to shrug when in plate."

Glord rubbed the side of his helm where the pauldron had caught him and muttered, "You could have warned me."

A Chattel held up a plasteel bar and Glord picked it up asking, "What's this for?"

"Bend it," Reddam commanded.

"But I can't," Glord protested, "Nobody could…"

"Do it!" Reddam barked.

Glord obeyed and fibre-bundle servos swelled as he effortlessly bent the bar forty-five degrees. His jaw dropped as he beheld his enhanced strength, performing a feat he could never achieve before. His strength was doubled with power-armour assistance yet he retained all his natural finesse. He was amazed at the display and he wondered how Reddam had ever given this up. The armour was a part of him, they were one and he saw this is how Astartes were supposed to be. He had been designed for his armour, as it had been designed for him.

Reddam waved him off as the next Brother suited up. Glord walked unsteadily to his bike, swaying like a drunk. Despite Reddam's advice he found it hard to adjust but after a few steps he managed to walk in a straight line. He made for his bike and sat down, then almost leapt up as the suspension creaked alarmingly under his weight. He grabbed the sidecar's weapon and saw a targeting icon spring up in his vision, moving in tandem as he swung the weapon back and forth. He could feel the grip through his gauntlets, impulses fed straight into his nervous system like he was holding it in his bare palms.

He spent a few minutes practising his aim then the rest were fitted out and he looked up to see a squad of power armoured warriors standing proud. Joffel's voice oozed out of one, asking, "Does this make us part of Primus Cohort?"

"No," Reddam growled, "It does not."

Kazao was bashing the side of his helm and said, "My rad-counter won't stop clicking."

"I said these suits were made of mismatched parts," Reddam rebuked, "Your suit leaks a bit of radiation, it shouldn't trouble you greatly."

Glord called out, "Look at it this way, under that helm nobody can tell you're an aberrant. You could be just another other Brother in that plate."

Kazao straightened with pride but Reddam barked, "That's enough banter! You all have to become accustomed to your new strength and we have less than a day till we engage the foe. Mount your bikes, we have training drills to run!"


	113. Chapter 113

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 113**

Coluber disembarked the Thunderhawk Viper's Bite and set foot on the Dyson Sphere for the first time. The light was cool and dim but he was surprised how quiet it was. There was no sound of industry or machinery, no tramping feet or rumbling wheels. Silence was everywhere, the eldritch devices of the Necrons functioning perfectly without any indication they were doing anything. Were it not for the sound of the gunships landing the environment would have been totally noiseless.

He looked about their landing area and saw an endless field of blue boxes, exactly as the Aberrants had described it. As far as his auto-senses could detect lines of prisoners stood, trapped in single moments of time. Vague impressions of walls were etched in the distance, made hazy by the vast scales involved. They rose like mountainsides to a roof, which had a wide hole in it. Through that gap the Amber Vipers had flown, dropping straight from the Wyvern in high orbit, where the vessel remained, praying to go unnoticed. They had landed in the human district and he could see soldiers, priests, zealots, tanks and even a few Knight Engines trapped, all awaiting release. Nothing moved amongst those boxes, no guards or workers were anywhere to be seen, the Amber Vipers were alone.

Coluber tested his vox-relay and signalled, "Insertion complete, we are down."

A distant Chattel reported from orbit, "No signs of resistance, we seem to have gone unnoticed. The Serpens Rex is moving, they have a clear run to reach the Warp-gate."

"Tell them to hang back until we engage, then when the Necrons are distracted to run like hell," Coluber ordered, "Keep inconspicuous yourselves, the Wyvern will be needed when we exfiltrate."

Coluber cut the link before a reply was forthcoming and looked about. Around him Amber Vipers of Primus, Secundus and Tertius were spreading out, making their way among the blue boxes with weapons drawn. They were alert for ambushes and traps but so far had gone unchallenged, of the Necrons there was no sign. Further back the Angantyr was unloading their vehicles, the bikes and attack bikes, three rhinos, a Hunter anti-air, his chariot Drakones and Maru Kysoto himself. Further out the Cerberii were disembarking Doombringer, four Brothers and the three Cadmus-robots lugging rad-grenades and Fission-blasters in their blackened gauntlets. Together this represented the full might of the Chapter and it was still barely a fraction of the force the first Amber Vipers had brought to bear, but if Coluber's plan worked they were about to increase their strength a hundred-fold.

Coluber strode down the Thunderhawk's ramp and saw Ferrac and Shrios congregating, the pair directing the various squads to take up defensive positions. Coluber joined them saying, "Any sign of resistance?"

"None," Ferrac muttered, "Which is what concerns me."

Shrios cocked his helm to one side and mused, "Perhaps we took them by surprise."

"I doubt it," Coluber scoffed, "The Necrons can't have missed our arrival."

Shrios sniffed, "Perhaps they thought we'd go straight for the objective and positioned their forces around it. Maybe they didn't expect us to head for this prison or they simply don't consider us a threat?"

Ferrac growled, "You're guessing. I don't like this. We were expecting ferocious resistance from the moment we set forth. They should have contested our landing at the least."

Coluber concurred, "I expected we would have to work under heavy fire, but this is eerie. It's been super easy, barely an inconvenience."

"I smell a trap," Ferrac growled.

"In that case may I recommend we quit chatting and work quickly," Shrios pressed.

"Good advice," Coluber accepted, "Let's get these soldiers free."

The trio strode over to the nearest blue box and Coluber spied a platoon of guardsmen, trapped in poses of fearful desperation. They seemed to be pointing lasrifles in all directions, like they were surrounded and knew the end was at hand. Coluber spied four silver devices, one at each corner of the box and directed Brothers to stand in position. He was about to give the order, but reconsidered it and took a step to the right, avoiding the ends of their lasguns. Satisfied he wasn't about to be shot he nodded once.

The four warriors stomped on the devices and smashed them into splinters. The field snapped off in an instant and the mortals were freed. They resumed their mad panic, jostling together as they fired wildly into the air and cried out in distress. A las-bolt shot over Coluber's shoulder but he did not flinch, he faced the mortals directly and shouted, "Cease in the name of the Emperor!"

The men shrank back at the sight of an angry Space Marine looming over them and huddled together. They looked lost and bewildered as well they should. They had been taken in mid-battle, trapped for millennia in oblivion and suddenly found themselves in a different locale, surrounded by the Emperor's Finest. They looked like they were about to piss themselves but then an officer shoved his way forward through the mob and showed his spine by saying, "H'astartees?"

Coluber was taken aback by the man's thick accent, thousands of years of linguistic drift making his low gothic sound mangled. Coluber faced the officer directly and barked, "Stand down this instant lieutenant! Report your name, rank and condition."

The man seemed comforted by the familiar sensation of having someone barking orders at him and replied as a Guardsmen ought, "Lieutenant Haster, of the Ninety-ninth Gortian Stalwarts. We are part of the Grim Pall Crusade, under Warmaster Drake, by the grace of the God-Emperor. We were fighting some form of undying skeletons when this blue light hit us… and then you appeared from nowhere."

Coluber found the man's accent off-putting but he could make out the words and saw the best way to deal with these mortals was to assume a position of authority. He briskly commanded, "Lieutenant, I require this army assembled as soon as possible. Spread your men out and assist my Brothers to break open the cages and establish a chain of command. I expect your regiments to be ready to march within the hour."

Haster frowned as he protested, "But…"

"That was an order!" Coluber snapped and the man responded the only way he knew how, by obeying.

As he scurried off Coluber turned to his comrades and said, "There are many cages and little time, we should assist them." The three split up and spread out, helping the Marines free the Ghost Crusade. It was easy enough to interrupt the stasis-cubes but calming the bewildered men was harder. They seemed confused and demoralised; they had been captured in mid-battle and didn't understand what was occurring. Coluber found it best to not give them time to ask any questions, acting as if he was their direct superior and the Guardsmen fell into line immediately, as they had been indoctrinated from birth to do. The various priests alongside them were harder to convince, battlefield preachers from the pinnacle of Imperial zealotry being firm of spirit, but a few platitudes about the God-Emperor's ineffable will settled them. Soon thousands of bewildered Crusaders were assembling into their tattered regiments, tanks rumbling and preachers moving among them bellowing catechisms of obedience and subservience to the word of the God-Emperor.

Coluber soon found himself at the very edge of the human district, where the Stasis-cubes shifted to Ork containment. He eyed the Greenskins warily and made sure nobody was interfering with the savage Xenos, when he heard a heavy tread behind. He turned about and saw Maru Kysoto approaching, with a gaggle of senior commanders. Their high rank was obvious from the weight of gold braiding and icons of authority pinned to their apparel. Three men, a wild-eyed man with a fiery staff, denoting him some form of Ecclesiarchy official. Another in a tight bodyglove and sinister eyes that Coluber instantly marked as an Inquisitor. The third was a heavy-set man, with a white uniform and black boots. He wore a shining carapace breastplate and a helm topped by a plume of green feathers. Foppish apparel in Coluber's opinion but the man's chest bore doughty medals and his face many scars and at his waist was a battered chainsword, not a weapon for a mortal without strength and savagery in his soul. His chin bristled with stubble and his hair was caked with sweat, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. Here was one accustomed to being obeyed and his word being made law.

The party came to a halt before him and Maru proclaimed, "Here he is, Lord Tempestus. May I present Coluber, leader of this band."

Coluber eyed the man in the white uniform and said, "Drake?"

The man returned the stare unflinchingly and uttered, "Warmaster Drake to you. This is Cardinal Reash, the mouthpiece of the God-Emperor. This is Lord Inquisitor Kinwe."

The Inquisitor hissed, "This is most peculiar…"

"Shut up," Drake snapped, "I'm talking."

Coluber was impressed that any man could speak so to an Inquisitor and live. His estimation of the man rose, as he said, "The Amber Vipers stand ready to fight alongside you."

"You are what's left of the Amber Vipers," Drake sneered disbelievingly, "What happened to make you so shabby looking?"

Coluber's eyes flickered to Maru and he wondered what the Librarian-Dreadnought had told them, but he said aloud, "I am Coluber, Chapter Master of the Amber Vipers, I have come to aid you."

Drake sniffed, "You don't look like much. You used to be glorious, not a bunch of vagabonds. Tsumetai would be shocked to see what has become of you over the millennia."

Coluber replied, "I see Maru told you the date."

Drake nodded, "We were giving the metal bastards a drubbing but then they pulled some weird stunt on us. Maru says the Necrons captured us and stuck us in stasis. Apparently it's the forty-second millennium. I can't believe it."

Coluber paused as he reached up and removed his helm, revealing his bare face, then stated, "I am sorry to tell you it is true."

Drake growled, "I don't know you, I don't trust you, but I know Maru Kysoto. You vouch for this one?"

Maru declared, "He speaks truth and fights for the Emperor. His rabble lacks dignity but they will fight for Terra, of that I am sure."

Coluber faced Drake and asked, "Do we have a problem?"

Drake sniffed, "We have a thousand and one problems, but the mission is the same. My Crusade was ordered to cleanse the Grim Pall Nebula and it seems the threat remains. My orders stand; we shall engage the enemy with every weapon at our disposal."

Coluber was relieved and prompted, "Then we should make haste. Your forces are in disarray. We must get organised and move to the surface before the Necrons strike."

"Hold on, there are some questions that need answering," Drake hissed.

The Inquisitor leaned in and probed, "What is the state of the Imperium? Did our holy quest to cleanse the galaxy succeed, does Mankind stand alone, in blessed isolation at last?"

The cardinal added, "Does the God-Emperor still rule?"

Coluber could hardly explain thousands of years of defeats, desperate last-stand and victories so bloody they could barely be counted as wins. The fall of Cadia, the opening of the Cicatrix Maledictum and the return of a Primarch would be impossible to explain. So he drew in a breath and said, "The Imperium has waned over the centuries. The threats have grown in number and the Imperium stands on the knife-edge. Yet Terra endures and the Emperor's light yet pierces the darkness to bring hope to His people."

"Praise the God-Emperor!" Reash proclaimed.

Coluber pressed his point, "The Imperium cannot afford another enemy, these Necrons are too dangerous to let free. We must move to the surface and confront them head-on."

"Didn't work too well last time," Drake muttered, "Defeating them may be impossible."

Yet Maru interjected, "It is written: if you think a thing is impossible then you have made it so."

Drake shook his head and said, "Don't get me wrong, we'll fight and die for the God-Emperor. My warrant of Crusade hasn't changed, I must fight, but I'd rather fight for a victory than to stave off defeat."

Coluber placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "I have a strike team prepared to deal a critical blow to the enemy but they first require a distraction. I need your crusade to draw the Necron's armies out, lure them into battle so my Marines can reach their objective unmolested. I cannot do this without you Drake, can I count on you?"

Drake paused a moment then asked, "Do they… do they remember us on Terra?"

Coluber lowered his arm sadly and said, "We came via Kimdaria, I am sorry to say no word of your Crusade ever returned. As far as the Imperium knows you jumped into the nebula and vanished. They call you the 'Ghost Crusade'."

Drake's jaw tightened as he hissed, "Ghost Crusade?! That won't do, I won't suffer to be forgotten. If this is my final battle then I shall make such an end that men shall sing our names from the Halo Stars to the Eastern Fringe!"

Maru leaned down slightly as he affirmed, "A worthy death lies before you, waiting to be seized. Act boldly today and your names shall ring forever. The Emperor will see your banner placed among the thousands set before the Eternity Gate."

"You promise?" Drake asked quietly.

"I give you my word," Maru swore.

Drake straightened up and declared, "That's good enough for me. I better go whip my filthy lads into shape, looks like I've got a third of my Crusade locked up here and they need straightening out."

Coluber stated, "I have forces scouting the route to the top levels but time grows short."

"Then we'd better stop flapping our gums and get to work," Drake said to his associates, "Let's go put the fear of eternal damnation into this sorry lot."

Coluber watched the trio march away then Maru commented, "You do understand we have not enough dropships to rescue these Crusaders?"

"You have an issue with them dying for Terra?" Coluber asked.

"No, merely checking what sacrifices you are willing to make."

Coluber sighed, "They were dead the second they set foot on the Dyson Sphere. As will we be if we don't prepare. I will gather our strength and make ready to march. In one hour Reddam will set forth on his mission, we need to draw the Necrons out in force to clear his path."

"This shall be a glorious death," Maru proclaimed.

But Coluber grinned, "Death can wait, this is a battle I intend to win and I have few surprises in store for the Necrons."


	114. Chapter 114

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 114**

Something had gone wrong. Mathep didn't know what it was but an unexpected variable had been introduced that threw off all his predictions. The usurpers had been on approach, tracked inexorably on their path towards the Dyson Sphere. He had allowed them to land unmolested, why wouldn't he, they were no real threat. He had run trillions of calculations and determined every possible avenue of attack, every stratagem they could have employed. He had built simulacra based on the previous invasion and factored in their different numbers and equipment. Every theoretical scenario had ended the same way, a full-frontal assault by the invaders that ended with his victory. But then at the last second they had veered off course and disappeared.

Mathep was dissatisfied with this turn of events. No, dissatisfaction wasn't a strong enough term, he was wrathful. Were he still flesh and blood he would have been furious, filled with hormonal anger. Yet he remained undying and his wroth was expressed as a cold determination to exact punishment for this divergence from established parameters. An error had been made and someone was going to pay for it. This was not an emotion, this was a fact.

Mathep was standing aboard his personal chariot, floating over his assembled army. Below his position awaited the serried ranks of his army. Warriors by the thousand stood in silence, reinforced by Immortals and Deathmarks on the flanks. Wraiths moved serenely between the ordered ranks, disappearing into the floor only to reappear elsewhere moments later. In mathematically perfect lines Annihilation Barges and Monoliths floated, awaiting his order. Canoptek Spyders moved between them, attending to their charges, oblivious to the fact that war was imminent. At the rear Destroyers hung in the air, barrels twitching in eagerness to attack while Doom Scythe fighters circled above. Flayed Ones gathered around the perimeter, claws desperate to feel the slick tang of blood and skin. Even the Overlords stood in the ranks, cowed by the fates Mathep had doled out to his rivals. Everything was in order; this army was a force capable of obliterating any enemy in the galaxy… except they lacked an enemy to fight.

Mathep gripped his Chronostave fiercely and hissed, "Where are they?"

Tamunn stood proudly on the chariot and replied, "I do not know."

"Contact Inotep," Mathep snarled, "Tell him to find the invaders."

The vizier was absent, as was traditional and Mathep fumed with impatience. He was surprised he was still capable of experiencing such an impulse and in other times would have spent time basking in the novel motivation, but today he could not abide distraction. He looked right and saw the great tower of the Synaptic Annihilator, surrounded by the massed ranks of his army. The Necrons covered the plain for a hundred kilometres in every direction, filling the environment with latent death and that was only a fraction of the forces he had waiting in stasis-crypts throughout the Dyson Sphere. This day should have brought him a swift and certain victory; instead they stood impotently, waiting for the foe to reveal themselves.

Tamunn was in contact with the Vizier and stated, "The invaders have landed but their landing vector diverged from predictions. It will take a moment to locate their actual position."

"All the superiority of our technology and we cannot track a few hundred animals!" Mathep hissed.

Tamunn sniffed, "Nothing is perfect, not even our technology."

Mathep growled, "They should be here. Sixty-eight percent of our simulacra predicted they would attempt a landing around the Synaptic Annihilator. Ninety-five percent of the remainder confirmed they would land nearby and advance in force."

Tamunn mused, "Perhaps they seek a different target?"

"What target?" Mathep snarled, "Our living metal can repair any damage they could inflict. We could rebuild this whole Dyson Sphere, even it only a portion of it was left standing. They know this. No, they must be after my finest weapon. They have laid eyes upon it, surely they know its worth."

Tamunn countered, "I do not argue the point, but their methods differ to our predictions. They are behaving in an unexpected fashion."

Mathep snarled, "Impossible, these predictions were based upon models formed after the last invasion. Their behaviours are have been measured, quantified and categorised. How dare they diverge from our superior computations!"

It was then that another chariot rose into view. It was the Cryptek Antari, riding a dais only slightly smaller than the Phaeron's own conveyance. The Cryptek was arrayed in all his splendour, as befit his high station yet in his shadow cowered Schwift, the spy trying to go unnoticed. Mathep gave him no notice, the lowly creature was of no import.

Antari addressed them, "What are we waiting for?"

Mathep reluctantly explained, "We are seeking the enemy."

"You lost them?" Antari scoffed.

"I lost nothing," Mathep snarled, "They are behaving in unpredictable fashions. It should not be possible, our study of their previous invasion let us model their behaviour to the hundredth decimal place."

Antari was quiet for a moment then proposed, "Have you considered these ones may be different from the last breed of invader?"

"What are you saying?!" Mathep cried in confusion.

"My studies reveal these genic-gets are divided into familial groupings, separate gene-lines distinct from each other. I divine that this was a deliberate factor of their creation, various breeds fashioned for varied tasks. This has been exacerbated by generations of isolated breeding. At a genic level these new invaders are a separate breed to the first we encountered. They will inevitably behave differently."

"You!" Mathep snarled at Schwift, "You didn't tell us this!"

Schwift cowered as he cried, "You dinna ask. There's all kinds of Chapters out there, I don't know half of them."

Mathep's wroth grew but then Tamunn declared, "We've found them. They have landed among the stasis-vaults, they are… they are releasing the prisoners. They are amassing an army to oppose us."

"My specimens!" Antari cried in alarm.

Mathep's mind reeled at the prospect. None of their calculations had factored in this eventuality; against all odds the usurpers had caught him by surprise. He ran numbers swiftly and determined there were enough prisoners to constitute a significant force, one that could present an annoyingly difficult challenge. Not enough to win naturally, but the expenditure of time and effort required to eradicate them would prove most dissatisfying. Somehow these pathetic animals had managed to make themselves dangerous.

Any consideration that had he not been so inclined to collect trophies then this would not be possible were brushed aside. He was already set upon punishing someone for his troubles and this only added to the certainty of his decision. It was fortuitous that he had someone nearby to expend his hate upon, the animal Schwift.

"You, this your fault!" Mathep barked, "You betrayed us."

Schwift jumped in alarm as he cried, "No, it weren't me. I didna know what they would do."

"Then you are incompetent, either way your removal is necessary."

Schwfit looked about for somewhere to run but he was suspended hundreds of metres over the ground and could not flee. He fell to his knees and begged, "Please no, you promised me eternal youth. You swore to give me more years."

"So we did," Mathep hissed, "All the years in creation."

He lowered his Chronostave and let loose a stream of reverse entropy. A flood of time washed over Schwift and his skin began to smooth as his hair grew back in thick clumps. Time unwound around him, returning him to boyhood and then prepubescence. Chronometric manipulation was a flawed technology, the Necrontyr had known this all too well. They had measured its limits, charted the contours of its imperfections and devised precise parameters for its employment, but they had never overcome the base flaw. To use it safely was to be subject to diminishing returns, clawing seconds from entropy's unyielding grip, but to push it to the extreme was to risk everything. As with all Necrontyr technology, to unleash it without rigorous control would produce catastrophe.

As the power flowed Schwift began to de-evolve, his cells returning to latent genic sequences evolution had discarded long ago. He screamed insanely as his form became hunched and hirsute, with a thick brow and a jutting jaw. Hair grew over his form as he turned into a rude primate, with grasping hands. His shrieks became feral as he a small mammal, then a squatting amphibian. All these sequences flashed past in a handful of moments, millions of years of evolution unwritten by Necron science. Then Schwift dissolved into a puddle of amino-acids and base proteins, returning to the primordial ooze which had first spawned life billions of years earlier.

Antari stepped away from the puddle dripping off his chariot and sniffed, "Now I must select a new spy."

Mathep raised his stave and hissed, "No more spies, no more untrustworthy usurpers. We shall sweep this army from our Dyson Sphere and then go forth to conquer the stars."

"What is your will?" Tamunn asked.

Mathep steered his chariot over the waiting army and proclaimed, "Soldiers of the Hyktot Dynasty, today is a day that shall echo forever. Our race once ruled the galaxy, we were the lords of creation. Then it was all stolen from us, by our ancient enemy and the deceivers who promised us immortality. We have known betrayal, we have known deceit and defeat and when we arose from our Great Slumber we found our rightful domains infested by usurpers and inferior species. No more, today we set forth to take back what was stolen from us. Today the Hyktot takes the first step back to glory!"

It was the same speech he always made but this time he added, "Go forth and sweep my kingdom clean of invaders. March my soldiers, march!" The metal plain rang as tens of thousands of metal feet slammed down, the entire army setting forth as one. In perfect precision the Necrons marched to war, heading towards the stasis-vaults and the usurpers amassing there.

Mathep floated above them as he uttered, "This has gone on too long, I shall wipe out these invaders once and for all. No prisoners shall be taken, there shall be no more stasis for them. I shall meet them in battle and exterminate them all!"

So the Necrons went forth, bringing their full might to bear. Behind them the Synaptic Annihaltor began to shrink, left almost undefended in their wake. The Phaeron gave it no heed, consumed by his hatred. Little realising that this was exactly what the humans had planned all along.


	115. Chapter 115

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 115**

Battle was imminent and the tension was an oppressive weight on every soul. Guardsmen gripped their lasguns tightly and prayed for deliverance as heavy weapon crews found advantageous positions. Tanks rumbled as Enginseers hurriedly sprinkled them with battlefield sacraments. Hydra flak tanks raised their barrels to the false sky as artillery crews of Earthshakers counted their remaining shells. Knight Engines cast long shadows over their comrades, the air over their thermal exhausts shimmering with leaked heat. Preachers walked amongst the ranks, reassuring the faithful that by the end of the day they would sit at the right hand of the God-Emperor and officers bit down retorts that it wouldn't take anything like a whole day. The Crusaders were ready as they were ever going to be and soon their last battle would begin.

Coluber looked out over the massed crusaders from atop a low pyramid. He was some five stories over the ground and boasted a commanding view of the defences. His snakelet-scouts had soon found a route from the stasis-vaults to what passed as a surface, climbing ramps and transitways that led ever upwards until they found themselves emerging to the false blue sky. They had found themselves on the edge of a Necron city, a deserted expanse of mausoleums, tombs and pyramids that seemed to be some form of capital or nexus for their rule. One could only assume that the crypts had been emptied to muster elsewhere. Coluber had decided that it was better to meet the foe from cover than face them on a barren plain, where the battle would be concluded in minutes.

It had been impressive how quickly the Ghost Crusade had got organised. The regiments and mechanised columns forming up into their disparate parts and following the Amber Vipers from their gaol without nary a question or protest. Coluber would have expected it to take hours for one hundred thousand fighting men to reform under their banners but under the harsh eye of their Warmaster they had mustered with amazing speed, for mortals. Drake had proved a logistical genius, with an eye for detail yet the drive to ram through any disruption through sheer force of will. Imperial politics bred nepotism and corruption but no man reached the lofty rank of Warmaster without dazzling competence, a fiery will and a ruthless streak that would make a Marine Malevolent blink.

Coluber had packed the Imperial Guard into the deserted buildings, trusting Necron stone to provide some meagre cover from the Undying's arcane weaponry. Tanks rumbled impatiently in the avenues and boulevards between them, barrels loaded and ready to fire while Knights twitched their Reaper blades in anticipation of the coming fight. There was even a single example of a Stormlord tank, a Baneblade variant equipped with a Vulcan Mega-bolter, set to cover one of the widest approaches into the heart of the city. The front was kilometres long but the Amber Vipers were positioned to hold the centre, where Coluber judged the hardest blow would fall. Primus, Secundus and Tertius, all prepared to sell their lives dearly. Which looked more than likely to be their fate. All was in readiness, which was good, because Coluber's ears detected the sound of an approaching enemy.

He turned about and said, "They are coming."

"Good," snapped Warmaster Drake, "My zealots are chomping at the bit for a rematch."

The Warmaster was standing on the rooftop, surrounded by vox-operators and bodyguards. The chain of command was simple but robust, each of his junior officers knowing their place in the coming battle. The plan was simple and brutal, engage the Necrons in the urban environment and buy time for the strike team to reach its objective. Urban warfare favoured the defenders and each unit had a secondary and tertiary fall-back position should they be overrun but Coluber was under no delusion anyone would live long enough to reach them. This wasn't a battle to be won, their only goal was to delay defeat as long as possible.

Maru Kysoto was standing alongside them and uttered, "Their spirit is strong, their will shall not break."

"That's good," Drake muttered darkly, "Because we are desperately low on ammunition, we have no resupply or logistics to speak of. Each man only has as much ammo as he can carry and the tank's shot-lockers are half-depleted. I estimate this army has three hours of sustained fighting in it, then we'll be reduced to hand-to-hand combat."

"As the Emperor wills," Coluber stated, "Command of the Crusade is yours, I shall lead my Brothers from my Land Speeder."

Coluber turned and walked to the rear of the roof where Drakones floated on a cushion of anti-gravs. He hastily mounted the rear compartment and stood between Seyda and Vardat as Brother Rinda tweaked the turbines and Hyia whispered catechisms of accuracy to the spirit of the Plasma Cannon. He settled into his familiar position and voxed, "Amber Vipers, report."

From the left flank Ferrac voxed, "We're ready, just bring them to us."

From the right flank Kregulf voxed, "Cerberii deployed, may the Emperor absolve us."

From the rear, where the drop-ships lurked, Shrios called, "Apothecaries, standing by."

Coluber sent back, "Stay alert and keep those servitors close, if any Brother falls I am counting you to drag their armour back onto the dropships. I don't want to leave anything behind."

"Don't tell me how to do my job," Shrios snorted.

The far horizon was darkening and Coluber saw the land shimmering with silver. From one wall of the Dyson Sphere to the other the Undying marched, a hundred-kilometre distance packed tight with metal bodies and stretching back further than he could see. Strange machines floated over their heads and even higher than that a shadow billowed to fill the sky. Coluber knew the Necrons intended to roll over the Imperials in one massive hammerblow and the Crusaders would be hard pressed to slow them down, let alone repulse them.

He opened his vox on all channels, so all could hear him as he proclaimed, "Soldiers of the Emperor, sons of Terra. See the foe closing, you know well their might but I know in your hearts you are not afraid. You have already faced the worst these Xenos can throw at you; you have endured horrors that would break any lesser man. The enemy sent their worst against you once and yet you are still here! Now we shall show them that the courage of men cannot be broken and the Imperium's will cannot be gainsaid. For the Golden Throne of Terra, we shall fight to the last breath: Ave Imperator!"

"Ave Imperator!" one hundred thousand throats let cry and the silence of the city was broken by the thunderous cheer. As if that were a signal the closing army spat forth spears of darkness. Necron fighters, leaping ahead of the line and crossing the distance in moments. Dark crescents howled with madness-inducing shrieks as they shot across the sky and under their bulk eldritch weapons flared. Coluber saw their fire smite dozens of buildings across the front, blasting them to send masonry and bloody corpses tumbling. Screams rent the air as men smashed onto the unforgiving stone, their bones broken and skulls shattered by hard impacts. The Necrons showed total disdain for their own city, uncaring for the damage they wrought in their effort to hurt the humans.

Dark wings shot overhead, moving at fantastic velocity. Hydras chased them with thunderous flak volleys but hit nothing, so fast did the Necrons move. The Doom Scythes shot away then banked about, coming in for another pass. Yet as they did so a lone missile shot upwards, the Hunter Tarasque sending a rocket straight into the path of a fighter. They collided in mid-air and the craft broke up, broken wings shimmering away into nothing as it tumbled from the sky. The rest wobbled as they compensated for the loss and now flak pounded them hard, the Hydras making up for their inaccuracy through sheer weight of fire.

Coluber saw several fighters break apart under the onslaught and the rest veered off, running long to gain space. Ferrac snarled over the vox, "Hah! That gave them a bloody nose!"

But Coluber demurred, "Don't celebrate too soon, it's only just starting."

Across the horizon the Necrons were advancing steadily, their footsteps bringing them into artillery range. Coluber heard a familiar roar from behind him, followed by a sharp whistle as Earthshaker rounds tore across the distance. They arced over and then fell upon the hoard in a series of brilliant explosions. Metal bodies flew high, shattered to pieces under the ferocious blows. They shimmered and vanished in mid-air and not one touched the ground before they phased out. Again and again explosions bloomed, tearing great holes into the mass of the oncoming foe but they cared not. The Necrons marched through the bombardment, unflinching for their losses and unperturbed by the casualties they suffered.

Coluber gripped the frame of Drakones as the Necrons advanced and now they unleashed their power. Over the army a black cloud surged forward, barrelling ahead of the line in a smear of darkness. His Autosenses magnified and Coluber gasped to behold millions of tiny scarabs, flying through the air in a wave of silent death. Their mandibles were sharp and their eyes gleaming with hostility, closing towards the waiting flesh of man with ravenous intent. One look told him that these tiny foes would rend apart any man they found and they would not cease until every living thing in their path was dead. Earthshaker shells flew into the cloud and the flak shifted its arc but to no avail. Thousands of tiny scarabs were destroyed but the rest drove on, swarming around the explosions without pause. They dove from on high, blotting out the blue slice of sky with their mass and replacing it with the promise of death.

Screams of terror arose and Coluber's hands tightened into fists. Yet just as the cloud was about to descend Maru Kysoto lifted his Katana blade high and cried, "Fear not, the Emperor's Divine Wind is with us!" A shimmering aura surrounded the Librarian-Dreadnought and suddenly Coluber was nearly torn from his perch as a swirling vortex of wind burst into being. His feet staggered and the whole Land Speeder rocked as Rinda fought with the controls, forced to angle the craft downwards and start the turbines to prevent them from being dragged into the sky. Coluber struggled to stay upright as the wind clawed at his armour and his jaw fell in amazement.

Over the city the air circled like water going down a drain, drawn away by a maelstrom born of Psychic force. A funnel began to extend from that vortex, a writhing twister that grew more frenzied and hungry with every second. Coluber was stunned to witness the birth of a tornado, crafted by Maru's mind and filling the sky with his wroth. He realised then that he had badly underestimated the ancient warrior's power, Maru's natural abilities being boosted by the arcane mechanisms of the sarcophagus. The Osirion-pattern had been fashioned by lost arts, designed by one now counted among the Traitor Primarchs and the powers opened to the incumbent were staggering to witness.

The Scarabs fought to get away, they struggled to flee in all directions, but the tornado snatched them from the air and gobbled them up, dragging them into its swirling abyss. Psionic crystals embedded in the Librarian-Dreadnought's frame flared, silhouetting his sensor-dome with white light as he roared, "Rain!" At his command water droplets condensed out the air, lashing the scarabs with water. They were drowning in mid-air, coated in moisture that clung to their sleek bodies. "Hail!" Maru bellowed and the water froze, encrusting the Scarabs in ice and stopping their motions. Water yet in the air froze, becoming lumps of ice as big as a man's fist. They flew through the tornado at tremendous speed, becoming ice-bullets of irresistible force. Scarabs were smashed to kindling, broken and shattered by the impacts battering at them and their broken forms spilled out of the tornado in a shower of metal.

Maru was not yet done and he cried, "Lightning!" Instantly the Tornado blazed like a lighthouse, filled with electric discharges as sheets of energy swept through it. More Scarabs died, blown apart and overloaded by impossible energies and falling to their dooms. "Thunder!" Maru bellowed and the air was rent by sonic booms, percussive force smashing the last Scarabs and ripping them apart with violent vibrations. The cyclone was terrifying to witness, Maru's revenge for his lost Chapter wrought in the elements themselves.

Through it all Coluber watched in awe. The Librarian-Dreadnought had single-handedly demolished the black cloud, leaving the sky clear of threats. Yet the while the Imperials were engaged the ground army had advanced and the Necrons at last poured into the streets of the city. Endless waves of silver warriors marched into the avenues and boulevards, gauss weapons flashing as they fired up at the dug-in defenders. Actinic blasts tore through stone and flesh, floating monsters ripped bulwarks apart with silver claws and Wraiths slipped through solid matter to surprise soldiers from behind. Above them rode Destroyers, Monoliths and Annihilation Barges, blasting away at all they saw.

They were greeted by monsoons of las-fire, flung by guardsmen firing frantically from above. Heavy weapon teams let fly, tank barrels boomed and bolters roared. Knights charged forth to engage the foe at point-blank range and jump-packs howled as Amber Vipers leapt into the fray. The exchange of fire was so thick a man could walk on it, flesh and blood rained down from broken bodies as silver corpses shimmered and phased to nothing. Buildings collapsed in the onslaught, their stone walls crumbling and foundations smashed by the fury of two races grappling to the death.

Coluber saw the battle joined in full and he knew the bloodiest hour was at hand. He grinned as he drew Venom and commanded his drivers, "Take us at them and fire at will. For the Emperor and the Chapter, for the living and the lost, let us bring death to the undying!"


	116. Chapter 116

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 116**

Far below the battle the strike force sped onwards, bikes roaring with the throaty growl of promethium engines and their fat tires whirling. Six bikes, racing through the maze of the Dyson Sphere, seeking their target. They were focused and ready to fight, but so far had seen no opposition, the diversion seemed to be working.

Sitting in his sidecar Glord was amazed at how quiet the ride was. Always he had sat with one ear pressed to a growling engine, deafening him in one side and it was remarkable the way his helm's autosenses screened out the distraction. His vision was another matter, a blizzard of icons and readouts obstructing his gaze whenever he looked at anything. Reddam had reassured them it was all useful and they would get used to it, but they had not had sufficient time to learn. In the end Glord found it easier to turn them off and rely on his simple eyesight.

Power armour was remarkable in many ways, he was stunned by the real-time sensations fed to his nervous system, the boosts in strength, endurance and protection but there were downsides. Their combined weight was dragging the attack bike down hard on its suspension, making for a rougher ride. Without identifier runes turned on he was getting confused as to which Brother was which and was relying on the familiar dents and scars of their machines to tell them apart. Worst of all was that he could not feel the wind on his face, something he had never realised he enjoyed until now.

A blinking rune flashed before his eyes and he frowned. He had no idea what that meant and decided to ignore it. Unfortunately it flashed again and again and in exasperation he blink-clicked it. Instantly Larus' voice came through the internal vox, "Glord… Glord wake up!"

Glord was astonished how clear and crisp his voice was thanks to not having to shout over the engines, and he replied, "Don't shout so loud, you're on vox."

"Were you asleep?" Larus snapped.

"Still getting used to this," Glord replied.

Reddam cut in icily, "Now we're all listening, report status."

Glord gripped the Fission-blaster before him and stated, "All good."

Larus added, "Smooth and steady."

Joffel called, "Ready, willing and able."

Kazao affirmed, "My rad-counter won't stop clicking but I'm with you."

Tebes stated, "The machine spirit tolerates this offensive weapon."

Finally Berio intoned, "I stand ready to fight."

Reddam was leading their formation, his bike thundering ahead of the pack as he voxed, "Stay with me, this place is a maze and it would be too easy to get separated. We have a long way to the objective and not much time. The battle has started and Brothers die every minute we dawdle."

Glord looked about and saw the depths of the Dyson Sphere laid bare. They were passing through a vast cavern, running along a ledge sticking out high up its flanks. In those depths eldritch machines loomed, silver devices glowing with green light. Strange towers rose, black slabs of stone gleamed ominously and squatting mechanisms pulsing in disturbing ways. Glord had no idea what any of this did but he sensed the power flowing through this place, a feeling that they were vermin crawling through the rafters above some Hive World Manufactorum.

Kazao drifted closer on his black bike and called, "Is the Eye of Discord secure?"

Glord could hardly turn his head about to look over his shoulder but retorted, "Everything is in order."

"Are you sure?" Joffel probed.

But Berio cut in, "Trust me, if the containment sphere was breached we would all be dead already."

"How reassuring," Glord scoffed, "Remind me how we're going to get away before this thing blows."

Reddam growled, "A simple timed charge should suffice, then we race to the surface. The Thunderhawk Poisoned Fang is standing by to extract us."

"And if we don't get out in time?" Joffel asked.

"Then we die gloriously," Reddam declared, "Death is nothing to an Astartes when set against the success of the mission."

Glord we heartened by the declaration but then Tebes shouted, "Contact ahead!" All eyes swivelled ahead and Glord saw a lurking form hovering in the distance. It was a hunched arachnid, with many legs hanging from its bulk. It had a head with many eye-lenses and a pair of heavy arms that bore glowing energy projectors. A Canoptek Spyder the briefing slates had labelled them. It was doing something to the wall but its bulk filled the ledge end to end, there was no way around, they would have to punch through.

"Weapons hot!" Reddam ordered, and all activated their Fission-blasters. Glord stirred his heavier version with a flicked switch and grimaced at its evil whine and the red light that leaked from its charging coils. Similar in practice to plasma weapons but operating on a principle of fission energy, rather than cold-fusion, the weapons were potent but toxic implements that sprayed radiation everywhere.

The squad were hurtling towards the Necron construct at top speed and Glord lined up his sights as he whispered a chant to the Omnissiah for forgiveness in using so tainted a weapon. The distance shrank to nothing and the Spyder sensed their approach, turning to engage the invaders and bringing its glowing projectors to bear. Then Reddam barked, "Fire!"

Across the line Fission-blasters spat incandescent fury, seven crackling bolts crossing the distance in an instant. Every shot slammed home and punched deeply into the living metal, melting through the outer layers and wreaking havoc on its internal mechanisms. Necron science could repair any damage but the radiation soaked blasts seemed to interfere, leaving it struggling to cleanse the fallout left in the gaping wounds. The construct collapsed with gaping holes blown through it, reduced to a pile of slag that hit the ground and rolled over the edge to topple into the chasm.

The squad's first kill was confirmed but Glord was disgusted at the way blow-back from the Fission-blaster spread up his arms. The proud Amber colour denatured under the touch of filthy radiation, black veins crawling up his arms like cancer. He knew to continue to use these weapons would turn his plate as black as the Cerberii's and he vowed to return these guns to their vaults as soon as the mission was over. The armour he would gladly keep but there was no way he would use Fission-blasters long term.

The road took a sudden turn to the left and disappeared into the wall. The Squad zoomed around the bend and found themselves rushing through a midnight tunnel. Black stone whisked by on each side and Glord found his autosenses struggling to understand what it was seeing, the augurs unable to find any weak spot in the material. He furiously blinked the icons away a second before they shot out into another place.

This was a vast plaza, perfectly flat and smoother than glass. The distant walls were marked with strange runes, each ten-stories high and glowing faintly with internal energy. This place was far from empty, for odd machines hung in the air. Some form of glistening black obelisks, a hundred metres tall and ten to side. Strange motes of light danced under their surfaces, like fish spied under the surface of a lake, vanishing the second one tried to look at them. The Obelisks had no visible means of support, hanging ten metres off the floor in impossible stillness.

Glord opened his mouth to ask what this place could be but before he could speak an actinic green blast fell from above, ripping away a section of floor in a deep furrow. Glord's head snapped up and he spied three forms falling from above, machines unlike any he had ever seen. They were like upright circles, with a gap at the front for a Necron rider to sit within. Shimmering dimensional energies fluttered the air behind them and under their bulk hung twin gauss-cannons, glowing with latent power. They were as fast as jetbikes but their motions were crazy, random corkscrews that made them dance through the air in a state of utter bedlam.

"Scatter!" Reddam yelled and the squad veered off, tires screeching as they sought to evade. Glord was thrown aside as Larus slammed their bike to the right, diving into the shadow of one of the obelisks. The attacking Necron raiders pulled up, breaking formation to dart in separate directions. Glord had never seen anything like them, they obeyed no physical laws he understood. Their drives pushed them through the air with no regard for inertia or momentum, randomly changing angles and directions without warning, jumping up and down and sideways in ways that would have left an organic pilot dazed and sickened.

Glord fired a random blast into the air but hit nothing as he yelled, "What the Frak are these things?!"

"No idea," Reddam snarled, "These are new."

The raiders shot overhead, their pilots seemingly unfazed by their wild evasions. Fission blasts chased them as the squad tried to hit anything but every shot missed, unable to compensate for their random movements. In return green blasts tore at the black stone, leaving gaping furrows in every surface. All the squad could do was evade, darting in and out of cover, even running under the obelisks to avoid being hit.

Glord tracked another raider but before he could squeeze the trigger it shot upwards, escaping his aim with ease. He gritted his teeth but as he did so another dove from the left, blasters flaring with discharge. Glord was suddenly thrown to the side as Larus was hit, layers of his left pauldron being stripped atom by atom to expose the skin and bone beneath. It must only have been a glancing shot for his arm did not drop off but his steering wobbled as fountains of blood ran down his left flank.

"Larus!" Glord cried in alarm.

"It's nothing," Larus lied as he fought to bring the steering back under control, "Pauldron took the worst."

Glord knew his Brother was in unspeakable agony but his will was iron and he held true. It was a good job too for the raider that had hit them was coming about, corkscrewing through the air to bring its weapons to bear. Glord tried to track it but it kept dodging, its movements wild and random and completely… no, wait.

Time froze as Glord saw something, a repeating pattern to the Necron's movements. It was subtle and impossibly complex but the raider's motions weren't random, they were following a fractal equation, a computational model that was designed to appear unpredictable. No human could have discerned the pattern, the finest lexmechanics of Mars would have required hours in their cogitator stacks to deconstruct it but Glord was a Space Marine. His brain had been gene-sculpted to become the ultimate war-cogitator, able to process tactical data with the speed of Skitarii Secutor but married with the fundamentally human capacity for intuition. Glord saw the pattern unfold and knew what he had to do.

"Steer right at it!" Glord yelled.

"Do what?!" Larus hissed through gritted teeth.

"Trust me," Glord barked.

Larus obeyed, bringing them head to head with the raider. It tore at them, weapons glowing evilly and the distance shrank at terrifying speed. Glord held his fire as the Necron closed, he held back as it weaved up and right and down again, he held until sweat poured down his brow and his soul screamed at him to the pull the trigger before it was too late. But his vision was pure and his mind was set as impossible calculations ran in his subconscious, then he pulled the trigger.

The Necron was nearly upon them, its weapons flaring with imminent discharge. The crackling ball of fission-energy shot upwards but veered right, too far right, it was going to miss. Yet at the last instant the Necron suddenly jumped left, its motion to evade bringing it straight into the path of the blast. Corposant energies slammed into the rider's chest just as it was about to fire, smashing through its armour and blowing out the back of its spine in a spray of silver parts. The machine went wild, flying straight into an obelisk and exploding in a bloom of fire and shrapnel that shimmered as it phased away.

"We got one!" Glord yelled in elation.

"One down, two to go," Larus hissed in pain.

Glord looked about but saw the rest of the squad had engaged. One machine was surrounded, Brothers Tebes, Joffel and Kazao closing from three directions, firing blasts up at it. The Necron evaded wildly, dodging their shots as it flew in the open fourth direction. Little did it know this had been their intent, for Sergeant Reddam was waiting. He closed at top speed but did not fire, instead his arm flashed as he threw his spear high. The power weapon soared clear and true, smashing into the side of the rider and sending it careening to the ground. Reddam roared past, snatching up his spear from the wreckage before it shimmered and phased away.

Elsewhere Berio was chasing the last machine, his Fission-blaster spitting death. He was firing ceaselessly, filling the air with reddened death, a flurry of bolts impossible to evade. He was pushing the weapon to the limit, firing shot after shot without care. Glord flinched at the radiation Berio must be subjecting himself to but the Cerberii cared not. He fired relentlessly until a lucky shot clipped the Necron raider and made it stagger in the air. Then two more blasts brought it to an end, destroying it once and for all.

The field was clear and Glord sagged back, glad to have survived the encounter. But Reddam waved them on shouting, "Hurry, we've lost too much time!"

The squad raced on, clawing for speed but Glord glanced at Larus and asked, "Are you able to continue?"

"It will take more than this to stop me," Larus hissed.

Glord could sense his pain but there was no option other than to continue. The objective awaited and time was against them. For the sake of all Amber Vipers nothing could be allowed to slow them down. No matter what they must reach their goal and finish this.


	117. Chapter 117

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 117**

For the first time in millions of years a storm touched the city of the Necrons. Thunder rumbled through the avenues and streets, the percussive banging of weapons fire and explosions creating the impression of a storm raging. Booms echoed off the walls as shells detonated while las-fire pattered like rain hitting a tin roof. Collapsing buildings were the rumble of raging rivers and the snap-hiss of gauss weapons was flashes of lightning. Screams of dying usurpers weaved into the mix, their minuscule lives cut short by superior technology. Even the Necrons were making noise, the sound of living metal shattering faster than could be regenerated.

Mathep saw it all from his chariot. He was flying above the battlefield, watching his army falling upon the usurper force. Among the streets of his city Necron Warriors gave battle to the living foe, cutting them down wherever they lurked. Fleshy bodies fell from collapsing balconies and blood puddled in the streets as corpses piled high. Yet the usurpers were not going down easily. Their primitive weapons fired ceaselessly, tearing silver bodies to shreds. Tanks bellowed as they smote constructs with explosive shells and heavy weapons teams fired furiously into the fray.

Here a Spyder was blown apart by a fat shell, only for the tank to be ripped apart by the blast of an Annihilation Barge closing from behind. It was in turn surprised when a flock of Amber-clad Genic-Gets fell upon it, jump packs flaring with exhaust. They were led by a brute with a snarling chainweapon, who dashed the crew asunder as his comrades tore the barge to shreds. There heavy weapon teams were eviscerated by a pair of Wraiths that ghosted through the wall behind them, only for the Necrons to be inundated by a mob of screaming zealots, led by an animal with a fiery brazier on his head. A Monolith advanced into the teeth of enemy fire, gauss weapons slaughtering all within reach but a swift mechanical walker charged straight at it, ion shield flaring as it dove into the furious barrage. It slammed into the Monolith and a chainblade as big as a tank smote living metal, tearing through it with ease. Again and again it struck until the Monolith lay in pieces and the walker heralded its kill with the clarion call of its vox-hailers.

Mathep was troubled by the battle, by the resistance the usurpers were offering to his conquest. The battle should have been swift and certain, but it had already exceeded his most dire predictions. The usurpers were dug in and well-armed and had even employed warp-trickery, the hated legacy of the Old One's genic meddling still polluting the universe millions of years after their extinction. The collateral damage was immense, the city he had ruled for sixty million years breaking apart in the crossfire. Tombs toppled into rubble, hollow pyramids fell into themselves and mausoleums shattered as explosions ripped them to bits. A monument to the Hyktot's conquest of the satellite galaxy was overturned, its mass slamming into the ground and crushing a hundred battling usurpers and Necrons under its bulk. Mathep knew all this could be repaired but it did nothing to diminish the affront to his rule, this situation was intolerable and he would see it ended.

Mathep growled, "This insult must end."

Tamunn replied, "The usurpers cannot offer more than a brief resistance."

"The time taken is irrelevant," Mathep snapped, "That they dare to stand against us at all is an affront."

Tamunn cautioned, "Do not be hasty, our army is numberless and we are undying."

But Mathep hissed, "I am not content to watch others conquer for me, I want to end this myself."

A single impulse directed his chariot's drivers to dive upon a pack of usurpers. They were manning some form of crude energy weapon, that spat coherent light at a Destroyer. Mathep closed from above and the animals panicked as they spied him. They hurriedly swung their weapon upwards and managed to get off a shot. Mathep was not concerned, his chariot was shielded by arcane forces and the las-shot harmlessly struck the barrier, making it ripple as it shifted the energy into a tame pocket dimension.

Mathep scorned the use of his chariot's gauss weapons and instead lowered his Chronostave, unleashing a blast of raw entropy. The animals screamed as their skin withered to parchment and clothes rotted on their frames. Years piled upon them, turning them into gaunt skeletons, then they died as years turned into centuries. Their bodies became nothing but tallow bones, which crumbled into dust, which in turn became only free-floating atoms. Then they were gone.

A mote of satisfaction rose in Mathep, and he directed his chariot higher. The city was aflame and filled with broken metal bodies but the Necrons were advancing. No matter how much firepower the usurpers brought to bear they could not hold back the silver tide of warriors pouring through the streets. The Necron's numbers were beyond counting and they just kept coming. He saw his army marching up the widest of all boulevards, thousands of them stamping in perfect precision as Gauss flayers flared at the high balconies where usurpers lurked. This route drove into the centre of the city and once it was in Necron hands they would spill over the defenders with ease. One swift thrust would see this battle ended.

Mathep saw the Cryptek Antari floating over the column and he called out, "We have them."

Antari waved an arm as he proclaimed, "Your army shall drive into the heart of the foe and break this resistance. The day will be ours."

It was a bold proclamation but the usurpers were not done yet. From the end of the boulevard rolled forth a wide machine. It rode upon tracks as wide as two tanks and its armour was thicker than any other usurper machine. It had turret sponsons on each flank but its whole front was taken up by a pair of multi-barrelled weapons, that began to spin as it closed. Mathep knew this machine; he had captured it once and preserved it in stasis for its unusual technology as a curiosity. An arsenal employed to deadly effect. Twenty spinning barrels opened fire with the noise of the universe splitting and the front rank of Necrons was decimated. A hurricane of bolt-rounds scythed through living metal bodies, sending Necrons to the floor in a dozen pieces. The front ranks were laid low like wheat before a threshing machine, blasted to scrap in moments. The packed mass behind continued marching into the press of the onslaught, unable to think of any alternative save to obey the order to advance. Hundreds of warriors were slaughtered by the barrage, then thousands as the war machine swept the boulevard with relentless torrents of bolt fire.

Indignantly Mathep snarled, "Destroy it at once, I demand its destruction!"

Antari called over, "How?"

"Bring up Destroyers!" the Phaeron commanded.

From the back of the packed mass arose hovering forms, a hundred Necron warriors with their lower halves replaced by anti-grav platforms and arms by Heavy Gauss blasters. The usurper machine saw them coming and shifted its arc of fire, inundating them with rounds. Blistering torrents of rounds swatted them from the air and a dozen Destroyers fell to the barrage, craters opening across their fronts as they phased away. Yet the rest were undaunted. Their multiple eye-lenses gleamed wickedly as they brought their weapons to bear and fired.

Massive gouges appeared across the front of the war machine as Gauss fire lashed its armour, stripping atoms away at a terrifying rate. Smoking holes were torn in the glacis plates, leaving it looking like it had been gnawed on by giant vermin but the armour was thick and the war machine remained unbroken. Screaming torrents of rounds struck more Destroyers from the air, even as the rest fired back. The War machine was sagging now, its armour torn to shreds but it would not stop firing. Mathep watched in irritation as another dozen Destroyers were blown apart, and another dozen. But then the lashing fire finally found a weak spot and punched through to eviscerate the crew. Actinic blasts ripped through the machine from one end to the other and finally it fell silent, the crew reduced to gory stumps of limbs, missing torsos or heads.

Mathep leaned back in satisfaction and growled, "That took too long. We must make haste, before the usurpers can fall back."

Antari called over, "It may be too late, they are moving to prepared positions. We should…"

He didn't get to finish for a flash of Amber fell on him from above. Mathep's head snapped about and he beheld a Genic-get grappling with the Cryptek. This one was most unusual, a giant by their standards, in half-plate that barely covered his bulging muscles. Red veins threaded his flesh and his head was covered by a pot-helm that left a bovine face exposed. Mathep was surprised to realise he had seen this one before; it was a Mut-ant, one of those who had escaped confinement.

Antari was offended by being tackled and roared, "How dare you touch me?! You are a specimen, I am the Cryptek!"

However the giant merely grappled with the Cryptek as he roared, "For Brothers!"

Mathep urged his chariot about, intending to intervene but the combatants were too close for him to use his Chronostave and the distance between them was too far. Even as he watched the giant slammed a meaty fist into the Cryptek's face as he roared, "For Eckun!" Antari was pinned, and the brute was too close for him to employ his molecular lash but he responded by slashing the flanks with his free arms, sending blood running down the giant's legs. If he was injured the mut-ant gave no sign of it as he threw a punch that dented the living metal chest and he roared, "For Scarrio!"

The distance between the two platforms was too great, Mathep couldn't get there in time to break up the fight and he watched in vexation as the giant grabbed the reeling Cryptek by the neck and waist. The mut-ant heaved Antari high over his head and roared, "For Torfa!" as he slammed the Necron's back down onto his knee. Even across the distance Mathep heard the living metal spine break, shattering like kindling. Mathep could do nothing to intervene as Antari rolled to the deck of his platform and began to shimmer in an attempted phase-out. Yet before he could disappear the giant grabbed his silver skull in both hands and ripped it from the neck with a cry of "For Marko!"

Antari's was tossed aside as his body fell off the platform, the light of his eyes fading away as his form was made non-functional. The remains shimmered and vanished but it was pointless. The Cryptek's mind was no longer in it, drawn away by arcane data-retrieval arrays to be stored in quantum buffers until a new body could be built. Antari was not dead, no Necron could die, but his mind would be harrowed by this experience, left scarred and reduced. Precious memories could be lost in such moments, limiting his intellect and stealing his brilliant insight. The Cryptek's destruction might cost the Necrons more than the Usurpers could ever understand.

Mathep hissed as he levelled his Chronostave but the mut-ant was already leaping clear. Jumping from the platform onto a passing rooftop. He hit the ground and rolled free, disappearing behind an obelisk standing proud of the top and by the time Mathep's chariot came around he was gone. Mathep grip tightened on his stave as his hatred grew. Everywhere he looked the battle raged, Necrons grappling with Usurpers. Guns fired, bayonets stabbed and tanks roared as the usurpers fell back in waves. They had delayed his initial charge long enough to withdraw from their first position and now were retreating to the next set of defences. His swift victory had been turned into a prolonged meat-grinder. It did not matter that his armies were numberless and undying, these usurpers were proving far more problematic than he had expected.

He realised then that he hated these animals, hated them to the depths of his being. They had insulted him, sullied his city and dashed his plans to pieces. He was always going to destroy them, but now he was going to obliterate them one by one and watch the life leave their eyes, then he was going to grind them into dust and dump their ashes into the star they orbited. He was not angry, he had no emotions to be angry with, this was a decision. He chose to hate them and he chose to make their ending as painful as possible.

Tamunn looked over the city and stated, "The foe falls back, what are your orders?"

"Press the advance," Mathep commanded, "Give them no respite, I want them all dead!"

Suddenly he spied a sleek orange form dashing between two buildings: a skimmer vehicle of some description. It had a rear compartment that carried several passengers and he noted these one's armour was finer in make and adornment than the common rabble. A leader of some note, he discerned from experience, the usurpers loved to cover their commanders in gilt. The Phaeron pointed at the fleeting skimmer and commanded, "Take us after that one; I want to kill their leader with my own two hands!"


	118. Chapter 118

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 118**

Crusaders were dying by the thousand, cut down by implacable metal foes. They fought with all their zeal and courage but could not hold back the silver tide. Lasguns split the air with energy shots, tank shells flew free and heavy weapons thundered but they were barely slowing the tide. No matter how many Necrons they cut down ever more took their place. The lines of undying warriors stretched from the city to the horizon and for every one cut down three more would step forward.

Coluber saw it all from the back of Drakones. He saw valiant last stands and hopeless defiance. He beheld stubborn courage and futile nobility in equal measure, the crusader's bravery was the stuff of legends but to no avail. The first line of defences was crumbling and the Necrons advanced relentlessly into the gaps. Only the Amber Vipers were holding back complete collapse, squads racing from crisis point to crisis point. Bolters boomed, missiles flew free and meltas hissed, bringing salvation to those fortunate enough to stand in their shadow. The rapidly moving bikes of Secundus and Rhinos of Primus has proved their worth thrice over and the snakelets of Tertius stood shoulder to shoulder with the bravest of men. Where the Space Marines stood the crusaders took heart yet the Amber Vipers could not be everywhere, there were too many Necrons and not enough Astartes to hold the line. The conclusion was inescapable; they were losing.

As Drakones banked about a pyramid Coluber yelled into the vox, "Pull your men back to secondary positions!"

Warmaster Drake snapped, "I am already, but my men are being cut down as they flee."

Coluber snapped, "Then send forth the Stormlord."

"It won't last long."

Coluber retorted, "Neither will we if the Necrons take the main boulevard. We can't lose that street before we fallback or they'll cut off our withdrawal."

He cut the link and switched to a Chapter channel as he commanded, "Brothers, the crusaders are falling back, cover their withdrawal, buy them time to regroup at the second line." Across the battlefield, mortals began their retreat, falling back in waves to prepared positions. They were professional about it, platoons covering each other as they withdrew in staggered pairs but it wasn't making much difference. The Necrons advanced into the teeth of Imperial fire, scornful of the damage they suffered. Only the barking bolters and roaring chainaxes were making a dent, notes of resistance in an orchestra of death.

Coluber spied a platoon of guardsmen fleeing between two pyramids. They were firing as they staggered their withdrawal but it was pointless. In their wake charged a stream of silver bodies, metal feet stamping relentlessly as the Necrons gave chase. Gauss weapons obliterated men with effortless ease and the crusader's courage wavered as their number dwindled. The retreat was seconds away from becoming a rout.

"There! Take us to them!" Coluber bellowed and Drakones banked about. The underslung assault cannons span and the plasma cannon blazed brilliantly as they dove at the foe with tremendous speed. Drakones skimmed three metres over the heads of the mortals and then the weapons let rip. The Frost-field flickered as the rounds passed through and the nose of the Land Speeder erupted with a storm of fire. The Necrons were mowed down by the barrage, sliced to splinters by scything bullets and blown off their feet by plasma bolts. Blessed plasma, cleaner and purer than filthy Fission shots. Warriors tumbled to the ground in bits, shimmering and phasing away as Drakones shot over them. A jagged furrow was torn in the ranks of the undying and they turned to fire up at the Land Speeder, but the craft was already darting away at top speed. Coluber had a brief glimpse of the crusaders falling back in good order and then they shot around a mausoleum and he lost sight of them.

Coluber held on tight as they tore along the next street and then took a hairpin turn to the right. They were travelling as fast as a plane but mere metres across the ground, relying entirely on Transhuman reflexes to avoid slamming into a building. Coluber's world was a kaleidoscope of light and dark, fire and smoke as they zoomed through the battle. He saw lasfire traded with gauss blasts, piles of dead mixed with broken Necron constructs. Flaming tanks sat amongst heaps of Necrons who shimmered away to leave no trace they had ever been there. The pounding of the assault cannons and the snap-hiss of the plasma cannon filled his ears as they flew along. The pilot and gunner reacting to threats before he even saw them.

Suddenly they found themselves shooting along an avenue lined with Necron wreckage. At the end of the street stood an Imperial Knight, Crusader class, firing a Gatling cannon and battlecannon into a mob of gory fiends. It was joined in this endeavour by supporting fire from the Cerberii, who rained down shots from a low roof crowned by an Obelisk. Their combined barrage was terrifying to behold but they were being overwhelmed.

Set against them was a horde of hunch-backed horrors, loping forward with wet skins hanging from their frames. Their hands ended in vicious talons and they ran like a pack of wild animals closing on their prey. Fission-blasts punched scores off their feet, Gatling fire and explosions accounted for more, but they kept coming. They reached the Knight's legs and swarmed up its torso, jumping onto its top and clawing at the pilot's hatch. The Cerberii shifted their fire, the Cadmus-Robots shooting continuously in an attempt to clear the Knight. The clicking of his rad-counter told Coluber any mortal within a kilometre would be receiving a lethal dose of radiation but he had no time to worry about collateral damage. Even as he watched the Flayed Ones ripped open the hatch and reached for the noble within, eager to strip the skin of his living muscle and bone.

"Target that man and fire!" Coluber barked. There were no protests, all knew the nobleman was as good as dead already and a storm of fire swept his position. Bullets threw Necrons off their feet even as the man jerked bloodily under the impacts, then a plasma shot engulfed him and ended his suffering in a ball of light. Bereft of its pilot the Knight swayed, then toppled forward to slam into the ground, crushing a score of Flayed Ones and sending the rest scurrying away.

Drakones banked and circled the building but as it did so the vox blared, "We've lost the Stormlord, I repeat we've lost the Stormlord!"

Coluber spat back, "Reform your lines and prepared to repulse the next wave."

"I can't," Drake spat, "I need another two minutes to close the gaps."

"You don't have two minutes, they'll roll straight over us!"

Suddenly Seyda interrupted, "Look!" Coluber saw where he was pointing and gasped as he spied the Cadmus-Robots breaking away. The three machines turned their backs on the foe and reached towards the obelisk in their midst. Mechandrites shot from their palms and burrowed into the structure and then all hell broke loose. The Necrons sagged and their grips went limp as malicious scrapcode flooded their minds, a djinn of bedlam and dismay that threw them into anarchy. They staggered about as they fired wildly, lashing out at all they surveyed. They smote walls and floors with wild firing, they whipped the air with mad shots and berserk blasts went off into the distance. They brought ruin to their city but they did not hit any Imperials. The Crusaders were left in awe as their foe stumbled about, unable to shoot straight.

"What's happening?!" Drake called in confusion.

"You've got your two minutes," Coluber snapped, "Make the most of them!"

Across the battlefield the mortals turned and ran, taking advantage of the foes' confusion. Meanwhile the Amber Vipers poured on fire, breaking metal bodies with bolt and shotgun. Guns roared, chainswords howled and bellows of fierce zeal were let loose as the Amber Vipers slaughtered thousands of Necrons. Ten seconds of carnage became thirty, then sixty, then ninety and the kill count rose exponentially. At one hundred seconds the Cadmus-Robots stepped back, withdrawing their mechandrites and sagging as if exhausted. Their efforts had been blocked but they had bought precious moments for the Imperials to regroup.

The Necrons surged back into action, cleaving the air with shots and Coluber bellowed, "Fall-back and regroup Brothers, Ferrac you must…" He was cut off as something tore at the flank of Drakones. The whole Land Speeder lurched to the left with a howl of mechanical woe and the deck tilted as the anti-gravs faltered. Coluber snatched at the bucking frame as he looked up and saw a Necron flying machine coming straight at them. It was a broad chariot, with two drivers, underslung gauss blasters and a rising rear section like a Scorpion's tail. Standing in that platform were two lordly Necrons, finer in make and attire than any others he had seen. Surely the Undying's leaders and they were coming right at him.

"Evade!" Coluber shouted.

"I am already!" Rinda yelped as he threw Drakones into an evasive pattern.

Coluber was forced to cling on for dear life as the Land Speeder tore across the city, swaying from side to side like a drunk. The turbines howled as they fought to escape and the jinking made Coluber's vision swim. Flaming buildings dashed by on either side, blurring past as they shot along like a rocket. Left and right and left again they jerked, desperately seeking to lose their pursuer but The Necron Chariot matched them metre for metre, the ungainly craft easily overtaking the sleek Land Speeder. Flaming turbines were set against dimensional drives and were found wanting. They could not outrun this foe.

A lashing gauss blast ripped panels off the turbines and Vardat yelled, "The Frost-field is doing jack all!"

"It wasn't meant for Necron weapons," Coluber snapped just as a colossal impact hammered into Drakones' rear.

Thin armour peeled back and exposed the left turbine, which exploded in a blaze of shattered spars. Coluber was almost thrown from his perch as Drakones wailed in agony, the whole left side dropping as power was lost. He held on for dear life as the rear skidded wildly and Rinda fought to keep them aloft. Brother-Exemplar Vardat was not so lucky. He was thrown through the air and fell helplessly toward the ground, arms and legs flailing for purchase. Coluber frantically reached out to grab his arm and their fingertips passed mere centimetres from each other. Then a Gauss blast ripped through Vardat's chest, annihilating his hearts and lungs to leave a gaping hole through him and he was lost forever.

Coluber gaped disbelievingly at the loss but he had no time to mourn. The Necron Chariot pulled level with the struggling Land Speeder and a warrior leapt across the distance. Two metal feet slammed into the tilting faring behind his head and Coluber spied a burly form with an axe and shield looming over him. Instantly he reached for Venom's hilt but before he could draw steel Brother-Exemplar Seyda leapt to intercept, Burst-lance flaring.

The two met blade to blade and Coluber could not reach past his bodyguard to intervene. He was left to watch, mouth agape, as the pair traded blows. A hurricane of strikes and counters passed between the pair, their thrusts and chops enough to end another opponent ten times over. The Necron had strength and endurance on his side and fought with relentless fury. His attack was skilful and brutally direct. Seyda countered with a dazzling display of Kusanagi, the kata of the lost Amber Vipers flowing through his soul like the purest mountain spring. His sweeps were graceful and swift, flowing into each other with sublime skill. His thrusts were cunning and his parries elegant, deflecting and diverting with precision rather than blocking with brute strength. He wove a web of deception about himself, luring his foe into ungainly poses and concealing his intent with dazzling flourishes.

The Necron lunged, trying to take off Seyda's head but as he did so the Burst-lance swept low, bobbing under his guard and slicing both legs clean off. The undying champion fell and Seyda instantly reversed his stroke and drove his Lance into the Necron's chest, tearing out the heart before metal had a chance to hit the surface of Drakones. All was silence for a moment then the foe phased away, disappearing completely and leaving Seyda victorious.

Coluber was amazed at this display of skill but their victory was short-lived. The Chariot arose from behind like a whale breaching the surface of an ocean and its weapons fired once more, tearing out Drakones' right turbine. The Land Speeder was instantly thrown into a flat spin, racing crazily through the air like a spun coin. Flames and mechanical screams filled the air and the world blurred as they spun out of control. Seyda was thrown from the rear by the force of the spin, flying away to be lost in their wake. Coluber himself was slammed into a bulwark, unable to break free of the weight pinning him down.

The world blurred as the Land Speeder fell, flung helplessly through the air. The craft wailed as its spirit was wounded deeply and jagged sheets of metal fell off its rear as the anti-gravs failed. Drakones was crippled, unable to fly or fight, the noble craft had nothing left to give and was careening out of control. Coluber heard Rinda yelling over the vox, "Subitis, Subitis, Subitis! We are going down, we are…"

Then the nose of Drakones ploughed into the ground and flipped the whole craft over. Coluber was thrown clear by the first impact. He slammed into the stone with an impact that shook his genhanced bones and made his teeth rattle. Hastily he rolled over just in time to see Drakones' rear rising high, then topple over and crash down right on top of him.


	119. Chapter 119

**Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 119**

There was a buzzing in his ears, an insistent whine that dragged him out of unconsciousness and forced him to open his eyes. Coluber awoke to flames and smoke, the air was hazy with heat wash and the sooty scent of burning machinery penetrating his helm's respirator to coat the back of his throat in irritating ash. The sound of flames filled his hearing and his autosenses crazed and jumped, icons flickering wildly as his armour's spirit struggled to overcome the damage wrought upon it.

Everywhere burning debris was scattered on the roadside, ceramite and plasteel coated in Promethium fuel and blazing angrily. The overturned bulk of Drakones lay forlornly, the noble vehicle wounded grievously and wailing in mechanical distress. He could not see any of his Brothers, Seyda was lost far behind while Rinda and Hyia were trapped under the bulk of the Landspeeder, dead or injured he could not tell. Even their life sign readings were erratic, giving out false positives and negatives at random.

Coluber cut them off with an angry impulse and examined his own situation. He was laying on his back in the roadside, propped up by the bulk of his backpack generator. His resplendent armour was dented and scraped raw, the proud colours marred by the crash, leaving him battered head to toe. His legs however were the real concern. They were trapped under the bulk of Drakones, the flank of the Land Speeder crushing his thighs into the ground. He tried to pull away but could not move; he was trapped and unable to free himself.

Suddenly his vox crackled and he heard Shrios calling, "Colu… ear me. We s… go down. Are you alive?"

Coluber switched channels and replied, "Coluber here, I'm alive but I need assistance."

Ferrac broke into the channel and cried, "Give… location, we're coming to…"

Coluber was glad to hear it but then he heard a dull thud. He twisted his head about and saw the Necron lord had jumped from his chariot and landed twenty metres from Coluber's position. The leader of the undying gripped a long stave in his hands and strode towards the Chapter Master's position. His intent was obvious; he was coming to end Coluber's life with his own two hands.

Frantically Coluber threw himself against Drakones' bulk, trying to shift the Land Speeder off his legs. The weight was incredible and Coluber's position was poor. He could barely get any leverage and struggled to budge it the slightest degree. He felt the sands of time slipping and knew his chances of survival were vanishing before his eyes. He would die in the next seconds and his Chapter would follow soon after. He couldn't let that happen, it was time for extreme measures.

As he struggled he hissed, "Shrios, blow the reserve charges."

The apothecary protested, "But… save those for our exfiltration."

Coluber snarled, "We're not going to last that long. Detonate them now!"

The stamp of metal feet made him look up and he saw the Phaeron approaching. Arrogance and contempt oozed from his frame as he stalked nearer. In both hands he held his stave, its end crackling with deadly energies and his eyes glowed with lambent ire. Hatred radiated from the Necron, the cold wrath of a being who had seen eternity play out and despised every second of it. Only seconds remained and Coluber could not move at all. He threw his bulk against the Land Speeder and his desperate surge shifted it a centimetre. He gritted his teeth and pushed for all he was worth, then Drakones lifted a degree and he pulled his legs free and threw himself into a roll.

It was barely in time for a crackling stave smote the ground where he had been laying and cleaved through stone like damp parchment. Coluber's eyes widened as he saw the effect of the stave on matter. Stone crumbled like it had aged a billion years, falling apart as entropy ate it away. Coluber had never seen the like and he did not doubt it would have the same effect on flesh; one touch from that distortion field would end his life.

He rolled to his feet and drew Venom, then hastily jumped back to avoid a lateral sweep that would have torn his guts out. He threw himself at the Necron, moving as swiftly as he was able to sweep across the flank. His legs screamed in agony from their rough treatment following the crash but he overrode them, he needed all his speed for the coming engagement. He swept past the Necron and spun about, placing the enemy between him and Drakones' wreckage. He grinned as he saw a vicious gap left in his foes' left side but his joy died as the wound grew smaller, living metal weaving itself back together in moments. Faster and more completely than any Necron he had seen so far.

The Lord lifted its stave vertically and sneered, "Fool, you face the Phaeron of the Hyktot. I am no lowly warrior, my body was forged of the finest technologies ever created. Your pathetic weapon is no match for me!"

Coluber gripped Venom in a low stance as he spat, "I am Coluber, master of the Amber Vipers and I will defeat you."

The Necron replied, "Protocol requires me to tell you I am Mathep… and I am your death."

Coluber wasted no more time on words. He snatched up his volkite pistol and let loose a stream of ravening energy. The purple blaze arced for Mathep's centre mass but the Phaeron waved the stave almost lazily before him and the blast dissipated, reduced to nothing by raw entropy. Then he attacked. Coluber was forced to throw himself back as the stave came for his face. He jerked to the side to avoid a thrust then ducked and weaved to avoid being torn apart. He did not try to parry or deflect, he knew he could not withstand that crackling field of entropy so he dodged and danced, keeping from being touched at all. Mathep pursued him as he fell back, moving faster and more gracefully than any other Necron. No idle boast had it been that he was superior in make, the excellence of his construction was evident in every motion.

Coluber could barely keep up with the Phaeron's movements and Mathep sneered, "I am going to make your death slow and painful. Torments greater than I inflicted on those who came before you." The mention of the original Amber Vipers struck at Coluber's heart, those brave souls who had given their lives for the Imperium. Noble heroes who Coluber could only aspire to be like. Anger surged through him and made him throw caution to the wind. He could not kill this fiend to avenge their deaths, but he could make him suffer.

The stave tore for his waist but Coluber was no longer there. He spun about its length and crashed his bulk into its haft. His mass proved greater than the Necron's and his momentum threw it back a step. Instantly Venom flashed, slicing over Mathep's shoulder to leave a vicious gap. The Phaeron was momentarily off-balance and Coluber seized the moment to press his attack. He threw himself forward, sword shining like a blaze of lightning as he attacked. He gave the Necron no respite, no chance to recover. He attacked and attacked and attacked, with no thought for defence or survival. He struck for the dead Amber Vipers, he struck for his living Brothers who yet fought on and he struck for his Chapter's future, yet to be born.

Unable to withstand the onslaught of blows the Phaeron retreated, scores of wounds appearing over its form. The stave swung and thrust in his hands but the range was too close and he could not bring the entropy field into play. Venom was everywhere, slicing and cutting in a relentless flurry of blows and in moments gaping injuries covered Mathep, making him stagger as his skeletal form was rent head to toe.

For an instant Coluber thought he could win, but then the Necron spun, turning his back on the Space Marine. Coluber was momentarily confused, then the purple cloak of scales slammed into him, its weight shockingly heavy. Coluber was forced to stagger back and Mathep advanced hissing, "Fool, you cannot kill me."

Indeed the wounds over the Phaeron were closing, living metal reforming with terrifying speed. Coluber hearts fell as he saw the Necron's form become perfect once more, then the stave came at him. Coluber threw himself aside, only to crash into Drakones' wreckage. They had moved too near to its bulk and he had left himself no room to manoeuvre. Another stab came at him and he was forced to duck lest his head be torn off. He lashed our reflexively, slicing over a metal knee and scoring the lightest of blows. Abruptly Mathep paused, looking in astonishment at his knee. The living metal wasn't reforming; it stayed broken and rent, unable to rebuild itself. For the first time the Phaeron sounded dismayed as he hissed, "What trickery is this?!"

The Frost-field, Coluber suddenly grasped as he felt coldness creep over him, Drakones' arcane protection was still in effect. It worked by draining molecular energy and somehow that effect was interfering with the Necrons' self-repair ability. Whatever arcane sciences were wrought into living metal could not operate within the energy-draining effect. So long as Mathep stayed near Drakones he was vulnerable and he could die. That was all the chance Coluber needed.

"For Terra!" the Amber Viper cried as he threw himself at Mathep. His sword moved like quicksilver as he sliced across the metal chest and Mathep staggered in bewilderment as Coluber hacked through his shoulder plate, then cut across his groin. The Space Marine fought with desperate fury, his blows driven by the knowledge that two steps back would see the Phaeron clear the Frost-field and become invulnerable once more.

Fired by desperation Coluber's sword swept and sliced, it was everywhere, cutting and cleaving with every motion. He pushed his aching body to the limit, forcing his tired limbs to their utmost as he sought a way to end his foe once and for all. His vision narrowed and his lungs burned as he exerted his body to its fullest, drawing upon all of his zeal and ardour for that infinitesimal edge of speed and strength. Never had he fought harder, never had he been so deadly and he drove himself to the heights of lethality and he screamed, "Die damn you, die!"

Mathep retreated before the onslaught. One step, two, three, then suddenly he was clear of the Frost-field. Instantly his regenerative powers returned, sealing his countless wounds closed and undoing all Coluber's damage. Coluber's hearts sank as he realised he had failed to end the Necron, now the tables would turn. The Phaeron swelled with newfound power and his mechanical voice cried, "Enough!"

The Stave thrust low as Mathep struck. Coluber threw himself aside but too slowly and the entropy field grazed his thigh. Instantly searing agony filled him, Ceramite growing brittle as the flesh and bone beneath withered, ageing centuries in a few seconds. A cry of anguish escaped his lips as Coluber fell to the ground, his leg giving out beneath him. Weakness like he had never known gnawed at his bones, entropy tearing at his muscles and sinews. Never had he felt an injury such as this and nothing his genhanced body could do would repair this weakness. His leg could no longer support his weight and his armour could not process the difference in ages between the varied parts of itself. He tried to stand but could not rise, he could only sprawl on the ground and clutch at the limb in torment.

The sound of metal feet heralded Mathep closing, stave crackling with deadly energy as he came to finish this fight. Silently the last of his wounds sealed shut, the living metal reforming to leave him pristine. Coluber had thrown everything he had into the fight, he had fought to the utmost degree of his skill but it had been to no avail. The Necron had bested him and now came to claim the kill. Mathep loomed over his fallen form and crowed, "Unimpressive, your forbearer fought far better than you and he did so with no weapons."

Coluber felt death's grip coming for him and knew the end had come. He stared upwards, determined to look his killer in the eye, he would not surrender to fear, even if it was the last thing he did. Yet as the Phaeron lifted his stave to end everything Coluber felt a vibration running through the ground, a faint quiver that made his hearts leap into his mouth and the air rang with a distant thunder that heralded his last, desperate plan had gone into effect.

Coluber seized this opportunity and spoke aloud, "I have something to say to you: one word."

Mathep sneered, "Protocol does not permit any last words."

But Coluber uttered, "One word, a word that will change everything."

Mathep hissed in scorn and lifted his Chronostave, ready to plunge it into Coluber's hearts but as he did so a far away explosion rang forth. Mathep paused in confusion and turned his head to look. Far away from the fighting in the city, beyond the advancing lines of Necrons another explosion rang out and another, followed by the hissing of many Gauss weapons firing and the sound of living metal shattering. Louder and louder it rang, the noise of a battle being waged among the endless columns of Necrons marching towards the city and it grew more terrible by the second. The conclusion was inescapable, the Necrons were beset from an unexpected flank, surprised by an assault they had not foreseen.

Mathep's eyes flashed with alarm and he spat, "What have you done?!"

Coluber's voice filled with mockery as he snarled, "I told you I had one word for you… Waaagh."

Across the plain outside the city gaping tunnels filled with feral flesh and savage fury. From the depths of the stasis-vaults came a horde of brute muscle and clanking war machines. Beady eyes filled with hatred and meaty paws gripped brutal weapons as a river of primitive barbarians raced into the light and fell upon the first enemy they saw. They came in iron-shod boots, clinging to the sides of smoking vehicles and hanging from the backs of lurching walkers. From the depths they rose, freed from confinement by preplaced charges and led to the surface by routes the Amber Vipers marked out for them. Orks, an entire army of them, captured in stasis and held prisoner for aeons, only to be let free to seek vengeance on their tormentors. In a tide of fury half a million enraged Greenskins flung themselves into the exposed flank of the Necron army and every voice let slip the cry, "Waaagh!"


End file.
